Slouching Towards Bethlehem
by aRegularJo
Summary: Entropy-and faith-dictate that we and the world are forever changing. Booth and Brennan figure out how to be happy after their happily ever after, as a family tragedy reconfigures their lives and priorities. Updated!
1. Surely some revelation is at hand

Wow--I didn't think I'd get here. I also swore I wouldn't do another sprawling multichap dealing with life, death, and the pursuit of happiness, though, so apparently I lie really well to myself. I should note, however, that right now isn't exactly a great time for regular updates: 5 classes, starting a thesis, a massively all-encompassing job, finding a real job, going out and dancing when I can. You know--the usual. Things are mostly thought through though, so let's see how quickly I can type.

The title is derived from both the poem by Yeats (reprinted at the end; it's also the inspiration of Booth's 'the center must hold' philosophy), and Joan Didion's beautiful collection, "Slouching Towards Bethlehem"--especially a quote of hers I love from the prologue: "I went to San Francisco because I had not been able to work in some months, had been paralyzed by the conviction that writing was an irrelevant act, that the world as I had understood it no longer existed. If I was to work again at all, it would be necessary for me to come to terms with disorder." (There is also, incidentally, an "Angel" episode of the same title, though I've never seen the show). It will primarily concern Booth and Brennan in the "after"--after things have settled, after they have gotten together, after things seem good. What happens to their passionate intensity once their convictions and motivations change? Please let me know what you think. I'm not always the best at responding to reviews, but I do try and I take every bit of feedback I receive to heart.

* * *

_January, 2013_

It had been a long week. Screw that, Booth thought, as he parked the car quietly in the driveway. It had been a goddamn nightmarish four months.

Rebecca was gone. Ovarian cancer. It had been quick and painful until the very end, when morphine became the standard of care. Surgery, chemotherapy, and more surgery hadn't stopped or even slowed its assault, as it ripped through the uterus, pelvis, lymph nodes, liver, bladder, and lungs, undetected until an unrelated breast tissue tumor tipped a doctor off. The disease had clearly meant business from the get-go. Becca had always been strong and clear-eyed, and she had tried to approach this no differently, but it didn't matter.

Booth turned to Parker, who was studiously not looking at him, instead staring out the window with his eyes full of dread. Sweets had encouraged Booth to let Parker choose whether he wanted to be there at the end, and once he heard that option, Parker insisted on being there. Mercifully, he'd been dozing in a chair when she actually _went,_ but then Booth had had to wake him and tell him the news. And only then had it become real to the 11-year-old — horrifyingly, shockingly real. Parker had melted, shaking with tears, his eyes wide and terrified. Booth had had to lift him up and carry him out as Becca's two sisters and Brent numbingly began to go through the paperwork, work out the arrangements. Parker hadn't protested and instead had sobbed into his father's shoulder. Now, though, he was completely silent.

Instead of nudging Parker and reminding him to hop out, Booth went around to the passenger-side door and lifted him out. "Dad — you'll hurt your back again," Parker mumbled, the first full sentence he'd said all night. "Put me down, I'm five-one," he insisted, wiggling and intentionally kneeing his father in the stomach. Booth complied, settling his arm around Parker's shoulder instead. Park buried his head about his side.

Bones was waiting up, of course, lazily swirling a tea bag through a mug, hair in a ponytail, bathrobe slung over tank-top-clad shoulders. "Parker," she said, standing awkwardly. Unsurprisingly, Parker reached out and latched onto her, and she hugged him tightly for a few minutes before pulling back, catching his cheeks with her palms as he held onto her hips. "I am so, so sorry. Your mother loved you so much, Parker, it was evident in every one of her actions. You know that, right?" He nodded. "You can't … _ever_ … forget that, ok, Park?" She hugged him tightly again, and he burrowed into her shoulder and closed his eyes. She looked helplessly at Booth. Parker hadn't been this clingy in years; he'd been brave, strong, the entire time. Booth nodded, stroked and then kissed her cheek in reassurance.

"Do you need anything, Parker?" Booth said gently, peeling Parker away from Bones to look into his eyes. "Water … juice…?"

He shook his head. "I just want to go to bed."

"Do you want to sleep with Bones and me?"

He shook his head. "No offense, Dad, but I'm too old for that." His lip trembled though, and Booth ruffled his hair.

"What if I said I'd feel better if you slept with us? Help your old man out, huh?"

He looked torn. "Well, if it would help you …"

"Then go get your PJs, on, ok, bub?"

Parker nodded, and scampered up the stairs. Booth followed him with his eyes, his heart breaking just slightly. He and Bec had never been perfect, but he'd worked so damn hard to keep Parker innocent, light; to prevent him from seeing the dark, incomprehensibly tragic side of life too young. Parker had been a charmed, charming kid, up until four months ago.

Bones slid an arm around his waist. "And you — how are you doing? I can imagine where this would be difficult for you, too," she whispered.

He tightened his fingers around her. "It's all about Parker, Bones."

"Right," she whispered. "All about Parker."

They went upstairs quietly, peeking into Sophia's room to make sure she was still asleep. Parker came, bleary-eyed, into their room, and Seeley strategically placed him in between the two of them. They lay quietly, three in a row, for a while. Finally, though, Parker's hiccupping sobs cracked through the silence. As they rubbed his back, kissed his forehead and whispered soothing nonsense, Booth caught Bones' eye. There really was no way to make this easier.

* * *

_So what'd you think? Confused? Anyone seem out of character? Let me know! _

The Yeats poem, for those interested:

Turning and turning in the widening gyre  
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;  
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;  
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,  
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere  
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;  
The best lack all conviction, while the worst  
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;  
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.  
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out  
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi  
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;  
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,  
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,  
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it  
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.  
The darkness drops again but now I know  
That twenty centuries of stony sleep  
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,  
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,  
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?


	2. 4 PM on some idle Tuesday

Second chapter here! Thanks everyone who read and reviewed. We're doing a bit of a jump backwards here to explain everything (or at least more). Some elements of "The Idiot Magi" and "Meetup in Aisle Five" are in this fic and explained here. Again, please READ and REVIEW. The title comes from the very awesome "Wear Sunscreen" poem by Mary Schmich. Check out the song version if you can. Thanks!

* * *

_**Chapter One**_

_**4 P.M. on Some Idle Tuesday**_

_September 2012_

"Deputy Director Booth, a Rebecca Knowles on the phone for you," Danielle, Booth's secretary, said in a clipped, slightly bored voice. He could barely see her through his glass door, and knew that she was painting her nails — typical end-of-workday behavior for Danielle. Bones always thought Danielle needed more to do (Danielle thought that Bones needed to recalibrate her definition of a normal workload). Booth secretly agreed with both, but he wasn't going to argue with the Bureau paying someone to bring him coffee. "Should I send her through?"

"Of course," he said, then realized something. "Danielle, you know that Rebecca Knowles is Parker's mom, right?"

"Nice to know her full name isn't 'Bec,' then," Danielle said dryly before patching the call through.

"Hey, Bec, what's up?" he asked, pulling up a case file on his Mac Book before leaning back in his seat, spinning in his chair until he looked out the window toward the Washington Monument.

He had had this view — this office, this life — for the past 14 months, since he became the Deputy Director for Criminal Investigation, one of two number-twos at the Bureau. He now ran all the old-school FBI operations: violent crime, hate crimes, white collar, corruption, little of the new counterterrorism stuff. It had been a bit of a leap, and it was something he had quite honestly never seen himself doing. Paperwork was not his thing; his thing was, as Parker now put it, "kicking butt and taking names." That was what he was best at — investigations, people, righting wrongs, upholding justice the way it should be upheld: By putting his own life, his values and practices, on the line. Policy, leadership, administration, supervision simply weren't the same, but he was not quite the same, either, and fieldwork without Bones was _definitely_ not the same. He'd wanted her out of the field, and she received a promotion at the museum shortly before his, and taking himself out of the game had helped alleviate her feelings of being left out.

"Seeley," Rebecca said. He noticed immediately that her voice was odd — a little low and rushed, like she was nervous. He and Rebecca were a well-oiled machine now when it came to Parker — she picked him up from Chinese on Sundays and then he stayed with her through Thursday, when Booth would pick him up after soccer and had him through Sunday — and there was rarely need to call each other to coordinate something. Parker had always known to pick up two copies of everything, they debriefed each other on the phone every Thursday and Sunday, and the two of them ran into each other two or three times a week at sporting events. It was civil, cordial. Comfortable, even. But they weren't friends, so the call, and her tone, raised his defenses a bit.

"Everything alright?" he asked cautiously. He knew it couldn't be Parker; she would have mentioned that already.

"Yeah — Parker's fine. School's going well."

"I know, I just saw him yesterday at the soccer game," Booth said, puzzled.

"Yeah, he played really well, didn't he?"

"Bec," he tried again. One of the things that he always had appreciated about Rebecca was her no-bullshit attitude. It was the one thing she had in common with Bones, and it was damn rare in women. He didn't like this waffling.

"I was hoping — that you could stop by after work, maybe around 5:30? Temperance too — bring her, too, if possible."

"Rebecca — seriously. Are you and Brent moving, or something? What's going on?"

"Can you make it, Seeley?" she demanded.

He clicked over to his calendar to make sure Bones didn't have any late meetings (neither rarely left before six), and then said, "Sure. You going to give me a hint?"

"Seeley, please." While she definitely sounded irritated, there was a bit of a beg in her tone as well, which worried him.

"Fine. We'll see you in about an hour, Bec."

"Thanks," she said, before hanging up.

He looked at his desk. There were three case files he needed to review and sign off on before they were officially sent to the DA's office, reports from agents for two different ongoing cases (he still led investigations, although rarely, and only the high-profile ones), some memos for a meeting in the morning, a schedule for continuing training that he needed to approve for his department, a meeting tomorrow to prep for, on ethics policy. In short, stuff that was portable and could be done later in the evening. Yep, time to go bug Bones. He downloaded several files to his secure USB and packed up his laptop and a few paper files before grabbing his coat and hitting the lights.

"Heading out already, sir?" Danielle asked. "Kind of early, isn't it?"

"You know, once I leave, nobody'll care if you're here," he said. "You really want me to stay the extra 30 minutes?"

She smiled hugely. "If you have somewhere you have to be, I understand," she said. Danielle was a bit of a smartass but anything else from a woman made him nervous at this point, frankly.

Even though he was basically in charge, even though there were barely 30 minutes left in the regular workday, even though most nights he was there until seven and in by seven, Booth still felt half-guilty, half-thrilled as he left, like he had in high school when he played hooky. Jared had always mocked him for his Catholic guilt. Jared had never needed to feel anything approaching remorse when they were growing up.

But there was one more stop on the way to Bones'. Stepping off the elevator on the second floor, he beelined toward the citrusy-colored daycare. This was another perk of leaving early: No godforsaken five-o'clock-dash-for-the-kid line.

Sophia was playing with her friends Annie and Charlotte, and he paused for a second in the entryway to observe her. She was a gorgeous 22-month-old — almost all of her mother's pale, ethereal features and her fabulous cerulean eyes, and his dark, dark hair. He had known all along that the baby was going to be a girl, and that she would be the most beautiful and intelligent child he'd ever met, possibly the smartest and prettiest child, ever. So far, that was true. Sophia was endlessly curious, was thoughtful, was sensitive and fearless; she liked dogs and pandas and mango and giggling and socks and riding in Daddy's truck and digging her tiny fingers into the dirt until she could touch a worm. In short, perfect.

"Deputy Director," Maribeth, the daycare director, greeted him. "Beating the rush today?"

"Yeah," he grinned. "We've got a family thing tonight."

"Daddy!" Sophia yemlled, immediately abandoning Annie and Charlotte and running over to him. She was almost two, so she was pretty steady at the whole walking-running thing, but it still made him nervous. "You early!"

"Yeah, kitten. You wanna go surprise Mommy?" He scooped her up for a hug.

"Yeah!" she nodded enthusiastically. "Go see Mommy at museum!" She was Bones's kid; of course she had an impressive vocabulary.

"You wanna go get your coat?" he asked.

"Yeah!" she said, slithering down his leg and running toward the cubby closet. Bones always claimed she'd inherited his fashion sense — today, for instance, she'd insisted on light purple tights with stars underneath her violet jumper. He quickly turned and signed her out, checked that Sophia had had a good nap, reminded Maribeth that tomorrow she'd be home with the nanny, and then scooped her up again, tickled her until she squealed.

The museum was only a short walk from the Hoover Building, and it was always easier to stay parked, walk over, and then walk back. Sophia squirmed a little, clearly wanting to walk. "No way, kitten, the streets are too busy," he said. "Did you have fun today?"

"Yeah. We played clay," she said, and he stroked the back of her head. She set her hand on his chest and sighed — she was getting tired, he could tell. As soon as they got to the steps of the museum, though, Sophia commanded, "Down!"

"What do we say?"

"Please." She sounded exactly like Bones in that moment.

There weren't many people in the museum's foyer — it closed in about an hour, anyways. He nodded at Steve, the guy who manned the desk and knew that Booth always packed heat, and the two of them were waved through without having to go through the metal detector. Sophia chirped, "Hi, Steve-o!" as they passed. They took the elevators up to the _super-secret third floor _(Parker's name for it), waved at her office manager, Leisa, and knocked on her door lightly before opening it.

"Mommy, Mommy," Sophie immediately dashed in and toward Bones' desk.

"What? Sophia!" Bones had been concentrating intently on something, and was clearly startled by their intrusion. Still, she quickly picked Sophia up and put her on her lap, kissing her temple and smoothing out her hair. "I wasn't — I wasn't expecting you for at least an hour. I really have a lot of work I need to finish."

He immediately felt guilty. "Sorry, Bones, but I got this weird call from Becca, and we need to go out to her place at 5.30, and then I didn't feel like working anymore and Sophia was over daycare, weren't you kitten?"

Sophia had been using her palm to push around one of Bones' papers, and looked up at her father's voice. "Yeah," she said.

"_We_ need to go to Rebecca's? Is Parker okay? It's only Tuesday," Bones said.

"She said he's fine, and she wouldn't say anything more," he shrugged. He came around and leaned against her desk, hands in his pockets. "She specifically asked that you come," he said before she could object. "And it sounded like it would be really important."

"That's suspicious, isn't it?" Bones asked.

"Yeah, well, we'll know soon enough," he said, pulling for her hands.

She smiled up at him, her features softening. "Hey," she smiled, leaning upward for a soft kiss. Sophia was used to this, continued playing with her mother's paperwork. "How was work?"

"You know," he shrugged.

"Too many meetings, not enough opportunities to interrogate suspects?" she guessed.

"That'll sum it up," he grinned. Ever since he'd received the promotion he'd been going a little stir-crazy, and Bones bore the brunt of his restlessness most days. "Yours?"

"Yeah, no chance of shooting someone here either," she said. "Not that I'd have a gun to do so," she smirked, ever so slightly. "We _have_ to be at Rebecca's at five-thirty?"

"_Yes_," he said. "You don't have 'work' to do, do you?"

She looked dubiously at her spread. "To be honest, I was anticipating working until at least six or six-thirty," she said. "I'll need to take some of this home. Right now, though, I need to walk through the oceans exhibit again." She rolled her eyes. Exhibits bored Bones to no end, and this one was doubly bad because it had a formal dinner attached to Saturday's opening.

Bones was now the director of the entire museum — a promotion she'd been offered while on maternity leave and one that Booth had urged her to take. She'd earned it mainly based on her fame and reputation; for her, it offered a return to the academia and a palatable way to get out of the field, as it was unlikely for the FBI to let her return to work in dangerous situations with the father of her child. Initially she had little interest for the most administrative duties of the job, but she'd grown hugely in the post and was generally very well liked around the museum.

The job granted her greater autonomy to spearhead her own research and travel anywhere she wanted, but Sophia's birth meant that she had little desire to leave. He knew she missed her old adventures, domestic and foreign. The dangerous, covert, government-sponsored missions — all gone. No more trips to El Salvador, or Uzbekistan, or areas ravaged by natural disasters. And while she often claimed to understand the biological imperative and desire to sacrifice for her child — and adored Sophia with a fierceness Booth had never seen before — she often got wistful when talking about her past world-tramping adventures. She had similarly adopted an "out of sight, out of mind" attitude toward FBI cases — she missed delivering justice and the thrill of the chase and kicking bad guys' asses. Booth brought her in on really good cases still, but that was all.

Still, he knew she enjoyed the ability to write what she pleased (fiction or nonfiction) and she insisted on a few hours hands-on in the lab three mornings a week as a way of keeping her scientific skills sharp, which kept her happy. She enjoyed being recognized for her achievements in academia and didn't mind the haggling with donors (she viewed that anthropologically of course) or working with budgets. And it was also a platform for her, a way to expand access to science for those who couldn't afford it, for affecting policy on issues she cared about, for saving scientists who didn't have her clout to gain funding — different ways of speaking for victims. Still, she really hated being asked her opinions on tablecloth material for the opening of one exhibit or another.

"The fish exhibit? Again? Come on, how many times have you seen that this week?" He scratched the back of his neck.

"14, why?"

"See it in the morning," he said, looking at his watch.

"Canceling would be irresponsible." She stood, and instead of sliding down, Sophia clung to her neck, so Bones shifted her to her hip. "Come on. It won't take that long. Sophia might like the fish — bright colors are excellent brain stimulation. You want to see the pretty fish?"

"Fish," Sophia repeated, looking at her father.

"Ah, _fine_," he said, grabbing her Longchamps over-the-shoulder briefcase as she and Sophia moved toward the door. "But really, Bones, we need to get going."

"Can you grab my bag, then?" she asked. "Oh," she said, when she saw he had it.

"One step ahead of you, Bones," he muttered, draping his arm around her shoulder.

"Thank you," she said, in that half-haughty, half-extremely-sincerely-grateful tone that she had.

It'd been three years since they got together, two years since she'd proposed that they marry, and eleven months since the wedding (private, beach, families and "family" only), and moments like these still really got to him. She relaxed into his embrace, and they headed to Terrence Hall. Several people were waiting anxiously for her: Annalise, her assistant; Carolyn, her chief of staff; Miles, the museum curator; Melinda, the exhibits head; Richard, the exhibit curator; Kevin, the director of zoology; Michael, director of oceans; Kathleen, the PR manager; Dinah, the event planner; and several zoologists, oceanologists and exhibit designers.

"Sophia!" Annalise exclaimed. Bones had Shawna, the nanny, drop Sophia off two afternoons a week so she could nap quietly or play in her office, and Annalise adored her. "And Deputy Director Booth—hello."

"Hello, all," Booth smiled, not removing his arm from around Bones.

"My apologies for my tardiness. Also, we need to get this tied in quickly, as we unfortunately have to leave at 5:15 for a family matter."

"Tied up, Bones."

"Whatever. We'll do a more-thorough walkthrough tomorrow morning at 7:30, as scheduled."

A blessed half hour later they were on their way to Becca's and Bones was quizzing him on what it could possibly be. "It's not Parker and they're not moving? And it sounded urgent?"

"Yeah, Bones. We'll know soon enough."

"But it's so much more fun to figure it out by ourselves," she huffed. "In fact, you make a living figuring things out before other people."

Rebecca opened the door, dressed down in yoga pants and a long-sleeved University of Maryland tee. She looked … well, not _exhausted_, at least not physically, but drained and near-defeated. "Bec," Booth said, moving to tip her face up and examine her features. "Okay. Now will you please tell us what's wrong?"

"Hi Seeley," she smiled wanly and pushed him into the house. "Hi Temperance, Sophia."

"Hi!" Sophia chirped. Bones looked damned concerned, too. Bones catching on was a bad sign.

"Come in. Would you like anything to drink? Parker's at …"

"Soccer until six, yeah, Becca, I know it's Tuesday too." Booth headed into the living room, getting more agitated by the second.

"Calm down, Booth," Bones said, setting down Sophia and putting her hand on Booth's arm.

Brent was sitting in the living room, and Booth nodded hello. Becca sat down next to him, unconsciously curling into his side and bringing her knees to her chest. Booth had decided long ago that he kind of liked Brent. Shortly before the wedding, he'd sought Seeley out, said that he knew Parker already had a father and absolutely was not going to try and replace that. And shortly after the wedding the custody arrangement had become more equitable, and Booth suspected Brent had a hand in that.

"Well, since we've decided to skip the pleasantries_ and _Parker's coming home soon, we'll just rip the Band-Aid off my mysterious news," Becca said.

"Becca, calm down," Brent stroked her arm. Bones picked up Sophia and started playing nervously with the baby's hair.

Becca couldn't talk for a long while, so finally Bones said, "You're sick, aren't you?"

Becca didn't look that surprised, but nodded.

"Cancer?" Bones guessed. "You almost certainly have cancer." Nothing else made sense. Bones continued to study her. "Statistically breast cancer would be most likely, for your age and familial history." Bones knew that Becca's mother had died of breast cancer at age 57, shortly after Parker's birth.

"Becca?" Booth said.

"Yeah," Becca finally said. "Two days ago, I found a lump in my breast. I went to the doctor yesterday pretty freaked. He found a ductal carcinoma in situ."

"Those are … very treatable. Rounds of chemotherapy, radiation, preventative measures such as surgery should lead to remission and recovery within a year," Bones said.

"So it's not that bad, Becca?" Booth asked, noticing how ashen she appeared.

She shook her head. "Well, yes, if the DCIS was the first tumor. It's not," her head dropped, and she wiped at her eyes before looking up again. "Further tests showed that I probably have tumors in my ovaries as well. They believe they're unrelated."

"What's that mean, then?" Booth asked, unsure of whether to look at Bones, who could voice the answers, or Becca, who needed to.

"That's bad," Bones said. She looked at Becca. "That's bad."

"Yes," Becca said. She looked at Bones and took a deep breath. "They don't know staging yet; I'm going to have a biopsy done tomorrow and possibly surgery early next week."

"And there weren't any symptoms?" Booth asked, trying not to sound incredulous.

"I'd felt _ill, _I guess, but not really. They said it was likely fast growing due to genetic markers. Some … levels were way out of control," she shook her head. "Some intermittent pain, I'd gone to the bathroom more than normal." She leaned back into Brent's shoulder and wrapped her arms around her shins. "I was kinda floored."

"She was shocked," Booth translated immediately, feeling Bones tense up. "Is there a prognosis?"

"I have an appointment with an oncologist tomorrow," she said. "I was wondering … if you two could take Parker for the rest of the week. I'll pick him up Saturday. Tell him then. I need to have something more concrete for him."

"Yeah, of course," Booth said.

"And we — we may need Parker over there a little bit more. I don't want him … I don't want him to hurt too much."

"Anything you need, please ask," Bones said.

"Mom? Brent? I'm home!" Parker yelled from the kitchen, followed by a loud _clank_ from him dropping his soccer gear on the floor.

"Shit," Becca said, running her thumbs underneath her eyes and fluffing at her hair. "Look casual," she hissed at Booth, who awkwardly, but obediently, stretched out and put his arm around Bones again. Bones just looked worried, and he nudged her to make her relax. "In the living room, babe," she called. "Dad and Temperance are here too."

"What? Why? Hey, Sophie!" Parker said, coming into the room. He was the only one who could call her Sophie — Bones didn't like nicknames. He was very tall, his head skimming Bones's chin, and wore plaid red-and-blue shorts, a blue polo, and red Converse. The last vestiges of a summer tan shone on his skin. His curls were a bit too long for his own good.

"Park!" Sophia yelled, scrambling down from Bones' lap and going over to her big brother, who picked her up, sat her on his hip and started making faces.

Parker was now 11 (12 in February) and had just started sixth grade at Janney Elementary. He was incredibly bright, all A's in the toughest classes, and was just entering his smart-mouthed teenager stage. When he was at Booth and Bones' home in Georgetown, he and Bones would retreat into her office nightly, and she would work or write and he would do his homework, asking her for help if needed. He was taking Chinese at her urging (Booth didn't like it when they lapsed into simple Chinese at restaurants), and now loved both biology and history. They had a unique, incredibly close relationship.

He kept busy outside of the classroom as well — he was a Booth, after all. He played hockey, soccer, basketball and baseball, depending on the seasons. Becca often worried that too much time with Booth and Bones — both of whom she critically called high-overachievers with large egos and guilt complexes— would make him push himself too far, or worse, feel like he'd disappointed all his parents. So far, that hadn't been too much of an issue; he didn't seem to realize how intense either Bones or Booth actually was. He had adapted remarkably well, rolled with every punch, from stepfather to baby sister to stepmother. They made an awkward, lumpy-sided family around Parker, but he was alright with that.

"_Zenmeyang_, Sophie?" he asked, then turned to his four parents. "Why are you guys here, Dad? Bones?"

"Brent and I actually are going out of town for the next couple days, Parks, so we're switching things up a bit." Becca said, her voice remaining surprisingly steady.

His eyes narrowed. "Everything OK?"

"Yeah — it's our wedding anniversary, which we all forgot about." It actually _was_ their anniversary, he realized — four years. Damn.

"Oh, right," Parker said, looking slightly relieved. Aw, damn. Parker might be stable, but with both parents remarried and Sophia with Booth all the time, he sometimes felt abandoned, and Booth could tell. "When are you back?"

"Friday evening, pretty late. We'll pick you up Saturday, m'kay?"

"Sure," he shrugged.

"Do you need to grab anything, Parker? We're supposed to meet Angela and Hodgins for dinner," Bones said.

His face lit up. "Nope! Got my homework and my gear. Angela and Hodgins for dinner?"

"We're meeting at Agraria in about half an hour — will a hamburger and onion rings be acceptable for dinner?" she asked. Booth smiled. Bones was _so good_ with Parker, she didn't even know. (He really needed to let her and Angela know how much he hated Agraria, though.)

Parker's grin broadened even more, if possible, and he bumped her fist with his. "Heck yes! Let's get going!"

"Why don't you help Bones get your sister in her car seat, bub? I need to talk with your mom." He gave Bones a significant look, and she trailed after the kids uncertainly. Brent drifted slowly into the kitchen.

Becca raised an eyebrow at him skeptically. "Yeah, Seeley?"

He studied her carefully, this woman whom he'd once loved, and still did, really, in some way. He searched for the words. "Becca — I'm so, so sorry," he said in a low voice, catching her upper arm.

She looked straight at him. "You're a good man, Seeley. Please make sure Parker becomes one as well."

"Becca — don't talk like that. Like you won't be around."

She shook her head. "Days like this remind me that I might not be, Seeley."


	3. There I Will Keep You Forever

Thanks to everyone who is reading! I really appreciate the patience with the incredibly slow upload time. Title from "The Children's Hour" by Longfellow.

* * *

While there were definite perks to Mom's house (like the fact that all of his friends lived pretty nearby and Mom allowed candy) Parker couldn't lie: He liked spending time with Dad and Bones better by this point. For one, his room was way bigger. For two, Sophie was great, or at least as great as a baby sister could be. For three, they had Asta, the terrier that Dad had given Bones for her birthday right before they started dating. And finally, watching Dad and Bones was just … fun. Whether they were arguing or just talking, he'd never see them be boring together. And Brent was kind of boring, unless they were talking about sports or cars or his job. That was why calling him _Captain Fantastic _was so funny.

But now they were worrying him. They were both very quiet, Dad staring straight ahead a lot, Bones looking at Dad, then starting to move her hand over to his side of the car, then stopping, biting her lip and looking away or busying herself with Sophie. Plus the conversation at his Mom's house had just seemed_ weird_, with Mom obviously looking like she'd just been crying and Brent looking scared and Dad and Bones just looking … confused. Thank God for Sophie, anyways.

"Do you have any homework tonight, Parker?" Bones asked.

He grinned, remembering his assignment. "Yeah. For science we have to identify all the parts of the skeletal system."

"You have to ID all the bones in the body?" his dad asked, chuckling a little.

"Don't worry, Dad, Mr. Abernathy already warned me about asking Bones to do it," he grinned. Then he got an idea, "Though you and Dad should _totally _come to class and talk about how you figured out murderers from bones, Bones!"

Normally something like that would have made Dad laugh and agree immediately, but he just said, in a real uneasy tone, "Yeah, we'll talk to your teacher next time we see him, k bub?"

Parker nodded, creeped out by both their weirdness. "Don't call me bub," he grumbled. He was way to old for that, anyways.

Dad and Bones seemed to improve over dinner, though Sophie obviously hadn't had the greatest nap. So mostly he avoided Sophie, and Angela (who was busy dealing with Talia, their one-year-old, and filling in Bones about her latest pregnancy) and Bones, and talked with Dad and Hodgins and Joe, their almost-three-year-old. Hodgins was great because he liked baseball, and they could all talk the Nationals.

Sophie was lights-out by the time he was halfway done with his burger, and when they got home Dad took her upstairs to her room as he and Bones settled in her office for a long night of school crap (him) and museum crap (her). Bones' office was pretty cool, lots of artifacts from her days as a girl version of Indiana Jones, before she'd decided that him and Dad were cooler, and lots of books about random science things, one of which she handed to him. It had super-detailed, really pretty drawing of bones, which was much easier to read than the handouts on phalanges and tarsals Mr. Abernathy had given them.

"Bones?" he asked at one point.

"Yeah, Parker?"

"Is everything OK?"

She looked at him for a long while. "Yes, Parker. It's fine." She was obviously lying.

"Because you don't lie, you know." He looked at her carefully. "And you, and Mom, and Dad, and even _Brent_ have all been acting weird. So I kinda think something's up." Brent acting weird was the weirdest part. Brent barely reacted to anything most of the time. He didn't get mad; he didn't get sad; he didn't get excited. He was just kinda … nice, and easygoing.

She looked like a deer caught in headlights. He smiled. Bones _couldn't_ actually lie. Poor Sophie would never get to experience the joys of Santa Claus. "You know that none of us — me, your dad, your mom, or Brent — would do something we think would hurt you."

"So you would lie?"

"There are certain situations in which a parent feels it is necessary to lie to a child in order to protect them or when there are larger machinations than the truthfulness of a statement at play. Like … Santa Claus."

He raised his eyebrow. "Sweets teach you that one?"

"And your father, Parker," she said gently.

"Is this one of those situations?" he asked.

"Considering I just told you that I _would _lie to you under certain circumstances, my answer could hardly be considered valid right now. Now, how is that bone identification coming along? You want to come in sometime next week after school to see _real _bone identification? Two dimensional renderings are hardly accurate."

He grinned. "Sure, Bones."

Life with Bones and Dad also simply moved at a faster pace. The next morning, for instance, he woke up super-early to go running with Dad — down 31st to M Street, across the bridge, through Foggy Bottom, down 23rd Street, past the Lincoln, around the Reflecting Pool, and then back past the Lincoln to home — but then Dad had to leave for work so quickly that Shawna, Sophie's nanny, drove him to school (Bones was in at the museum by six). Then that evening, after practice, Angela invited him and Bones by the gallery to see her new exhibit ahead of time. Thursday afternoon Bones asked him to bring friends by the museum after school to check out the new ocean thing to see if it was interesting for middle-schoolers. It was actually pretty cool — lots of stuff to touch and an IMAX and videos. And Bones got them food afterwards, like always. Friday neither Dad nor Bones had to work really late, so his friend Tyler came over and they all watched movies and Dad grilled chicken and vegetables and made mashed potatoes for dinner.

He didn't realize until his dad came into his room and wished him goodnight that Mom hadn't called him at all since he'd been at Dad and Bones'.

It wasn't until Mom picked him up Saturday that he remembered his conversation with Bones — about how parents would sometimes lie if they thought it was in the best interest of the children. Mom looked like shit. He'd never thought that about anyone before but it was true: She'd been crying, and even though it'd been three days since he'd been home she looked skinnier.

"Mom, can you please tell me what's wrong now?" he asked plaintively as they walked down Dad's front path.

She sucked in a breath, bit her lip. "Let's go get ice cream before going home. How about Thomas Sweet?"

"What's _wrong_?" he asked impatiently.

"Parker Michael Stinson Booth, car, now," she said, heading to the driver's side door.

"Seriously, Mom, this is so unfair, I can't believe you _and_ Dad _and _Bones _and _Brent are all, you know, in a _conspiracy_ against me, like I'm not _old enough_ for whatever it is that you're not _telling_ me and I _know_ Bones said that you were all doing whatever was supposed to _protect_ me but right now I don't feel _protected_ at all I just feel _scared_ and you look like _shit, _Mom, I mean really like shit, so would you please tell me what the _hell_ is wrong?" he yelled, tossing his bag into the backseat and slammed his door. He'd never sworn before, at least not to his mother, and it freaked him out a little. He was getting a little paranoid. Dad would blame Hodgins.

"Parker," she finally said. "I'm not trying to scare you, it's just … we're all scared, too, and we're trying not to scare you."

He looked at her. "What are you scared _of_?"

She looked back at him, and he got the feeling she was trying to memorize the way he looked. "I have cancer, sweetie."

"Cancer?" he asked, uncomprehending. "Like what Grandpa Steve had?" Brent's dad had had skin cancer a few years ago.

"Not quite," she said. "More like … more like how my mom had it."

"That's not true," he said, without thinking. "Because your mom died of it." She paused, just a second too long. "NO!" he yelled. "NO! It's like Grandpa Steve and you're not going to die." He thought, desperately, fleetingly, about life without Mom. It would not happen. It could not happen.

"I didn't say I was, sweetie," she said. "Just … Grandma Annie's was in her female parts — breast cancer, right? And mine's in my ovaries, and my uterus. Female parts, you know them, right?" He nodded. Bones had taught him.

"But the doctors — they said you're not going to _die_, right?"

She looked at him again, hugged him tightly. "I don't know, sweetie. I don't think so, and I sure hope not. What's going to happen to me is going to hurt a lot," she said slowly.

"But you're going to have surgery, right? And they'll get it all, right?"

"I'm having surgery on Monday, sweetie. They'll do as much as they can. They still don't know … They still don't know where everything is, and that's part of what they're going to do on Monday. You're going to stay with Dad and Temperance, okay? You'll go over tomorrow night. You can drop me off at the hospital tomorrow around dinnertime and then Brent will drive you here."

"Do Dad and Bones know?" he asked.

"Yeah, they know."

"About the cancer?" he asked.

"Yeah, they know."

"And you told them Tuesday night?" he guessed. He was very good at investigations.

"Yeah, sweetie."

"Why didn't you tell _me_?"

"I was scared, honey. I just got back from the doctor's at two, called Brent and then your dad. We didn't know anything, besides these small … indicators. And since Wednesday I had a lot of tests and Brent and I had a lot of meetings with doctors to figure everything out. And I just wanted to say something real to you, not have to talk about what maybe will happen."

"And now you're having surgery on Monday?"

"Yes."

"What are they doing?"

"They're doing a lot," she said. "Mostly, they're finding everything with cancer and removing it. They're going to give me a lot of drugs. Then in a few weeks I'll start chemotherapy."

"When do I get to see you?"

"After the surgery?"

"Yeah."

"Well, the surgery is at six in the morning, and should take about six hours. Then it'll take me a few hours to wake up from it. … Why don't I have Brent call Dad _as soon_ as I'm waking up and then you can come over?"

"No," Parker said suddenly. "I want to go straight from school."

"Park, come on honey, you've got practice."

"And you've got cancer!" he yelled. He looked toward Dad and Bones'. They hadn't even left the driveway. "Can we go talk this over with Dad? I think this means family meeting." Family meeting was a rarely called state of emergency. The last time it had happened was when he got detention for going off-campus during recess.

She sighed. "Yeah. Sure. You're going to be spending more time over here, you know. Your dad and I have discussed it already.""

He suddenly felt very ambivalent, because he had preferred Dad and Bones' house. It felt evil now, like he had turned on his mom.

He opened the door, and yelled, "Dad! Bones! We are _having_ a family meeting."

Unfortunately for Bones, she was the first person to come downstairs, so he yelled at her first. "You _were_ lying! Something was wrong and you wouldn't tell me. I can't _believe _you!" He took a look at Bones. She was pretty tired — Sophie was kinda sick — and she was on deadline for _Bone Dry _and she had the banquet for the fish thing tonight, so she was really busy and he felt pretty bad.

"Parker," she said, crossing her arms before uncrossing them and putting her hands on his shoulders. "Yes, we did. Me in particular, when I tried to tell you everything was OK. And I'm very sorry I had to do that. You know why I did it though?"

"Mom told you too," he said defiantly.

"No, Park," she said kindly. "You know me better than that. Your mom was scared, and your dad and Brent and I are all a little scared too, because nobody knows what's going to happen, and the natural human inclination is to fear the unknown. So we needed a few more days so we could tell you things. We didn't want you to have to fear so many unknowns."

"I still should have known!" He felt his resolve slipping. Bones was kind of right.

"What would that have done, Parker?" Bones asked. "What do you think any of us would have accomplished? It would have upset everyone even more," she looked up at Rebecca and behind her, to Booth, who had appeared. "Why don't we go sit in the kitchen, have some pie, and talk. You can ask questions about what we know is going to happen."

"Fine," he said. "Do we still have strawberry rhubarb?"

"Unless your dad finished it off after lunch, yes," she said. "Booth? Rebecca? Is this alright?" She suddenly looked nervous.

"Yeah, of course, Bones," Dad said, kissing her temple. "Good call on the pie. Maybe Brent should come too?"

Becca shook her head. "He had to leave yesterday for a survival thing for the Guard. It was too close notice and I think he needs some time to process, too. He'll be back tomorrow, early."

"You've been staying alone? You should stay here tonight."

"Seeley Booth. Do not try and pull this the white-knight bull. I _will_ kick your ass, right in front of Parker." Parker looked up interestedly.

"No way, Bec —"

"I am not sick yet. I am not in treatment. Besides the whole cell-eating-cell action going on, I'm fine. Do _not_ disrespect me just so that your guilt complex feels a little bit better." Dad sat down, clearly defeated, and Bones slid a plate in front of him. She handed one to Parker, too, with a little bit of vanilla ice cream.

"Where do you want to start, honey?" Mom finally said, stroking his hair.

He swallowed. "What do you have?"

"I've got a couple of things. First, I've got a little tumor in my breast, one that's not too bad. Kind of like how Dad had that little tumor in his head, one that wasn't too bad?"

"Right. You and Bones both think sometimes it's still there," he mumbled around his pie.

Mom laughed, gently. "Right. There's that, and it's not bad at all. In fact, it's good, because I went to the doctor for this and then he found the other, bad stuff. Right now, they know it's in my ovaries and also in my uterus. They're going to see where else it is, and try and cut them all out."

"And they're going to cut it _all_ out on Monday?"

"As much as they can."

"How long is the operation?"

"Pretty long, honey. Probably six hours, at least."

"It's going to hurt a lot, isn't it?"

"Probably," Mom's look bored right into him.

He gulped. "And then what happens?"

"And then I … take a lot of medicines for a few weeks, because all the hormone chemicals will be out of whack, and then I start chemotherapy. Three days a week, I'll go into the hospital and sit for a while and read while they give me medicines."

"And then what?"

Something twitched in Mom's neck. "Then we wait. And see what happens."

"That's it."

"Yes."

"What will _happen_ to you?" he demanded. He didn't want to ask the real question.

"Park," Dad put a hand on his shoulder. "Nobody knows."

"Your mom will get sick, for a while," Bones tried. "Very sick."

"I figured that. What are the _numbers_? They're OK, right? Bones? Dad?" Bones ducked her head and bit her lip. That meant she _knew_ the numbers and _knew _they weren't good.

"We don't know what's going to happen, Park," her mother repeated. "But we're all here for you — me, Dad, Bones, Brent. All of us, okay?"

"So we don't know, we don't know what actually happens?" He didn't want to say the D word. d

"No, bub," Dad said. "We can hope but we don't know what's going to happen — to any of us, not just your mom — in the long run. Nothing's going to really change for you, though. You might be over here a little bit more but grades, school, your mom, me, Bones, Sophia, sports — all of those will stay the same."

"You promise?" he challenged.

"Parker — we can't _promise_ anything about the future, that's an unreasonable request," Bones said. "But we're going to make it as close to the present as we are capable of."

He stared at all of them. "Okay. Can I go say goodbye to Asta?"

All three of them exchanged looks. Finally, Bones said, "Yes, you may. He's in the backyard."

He trotted out to the backyard, where Asta was in his run. Unlocking the gate, he sat cross-legged in front of Asta, who had the decency to sit up.

"Hey, Asty," he said, scratching the dog behind his ears. Bones had received Asta around the time Dad and him had started dating Bones — Dad had always said if he'd dated anyone, that woman would date Parker too, because they were a team. It sounded corny but he'd loved it when he was little. But Dad came with him and Bones came with Asta, so it was like Asta was his.

The dog whistled low, and Parker put his hands in his lap, staring at Asta. He thought about talking to Brady, but he was pretty sure this was one of those times Dad would make him go to Sweets. And he didn't know what he thought. All he knew was that there was no way Mom would _actually_ die. He lay down on the ground, and Brady obediently put his paws across Parker's stomach.

About five minutes later, he heard the back door open. He didn't need to open his eyes to know that it was Dad; he recognized the footfalls. When they stopped, right by him, he crooked one eye open. It was really bright. He placed his forearm on his forehead to shield the light.

"Hey bub," Dad said. He looked _really _nervous, all shifty and jumpy.

"Hey, Dad," he said, not moving.

"Can I sit down?"

"Free country," he shrugged. Dad nodded, sat down, and reached over to scratch Asta's ears.

"How you doing, bub?"

"Don't call me bub."

"You're mad," Dad quickly deduced.

"No shit," he said.

"Don't use that language, Parker," Dad said, his attention momentarily diverted. "Bones or your mother'd heard that, they'd probably smack you."

He thought about it. "Mom would. Bones would lecture me on the anthropology of words, or something." The Bones-style punishment sounded worse.

"So you're mad at us for not telling you," Dad stated. It was true.

"Of _course_ I am," he said. "I'm 11, not 1. That's your _other _kid."

"Parker," Dad began, and shifted to put his arm around him. Parker promptly hit him. Like the swearing, it kind of felt good. "We're sorry. All of us — Bones, your mom, me. We don't know what's going on and we're a little scared here, and your mom doesn't want you to be scared."

"Well, now, no matter what, I'm scared," he didn't want to think about it. And he didn't like that his chin was trembling either.

"I know, bub," Dad said, softly. "But when we get scared, we have choices. And those choices, bub — they're what make a person, a person."

"What?"

"Not the way Bones or science would do it, bub. How we choose to act when we're scared, that's what tells the world who we are. And up till now, you've had it good. Yeah, a haunted house is scary, but you haven't had to be scared. Really scared, like now, you know? So now it's your turn."

"To show the world who I am?" he asked skeptically.

"Yeah, exactly," Dad said. "You can be brave for your mom — who is _very _scared, Parker — and you can have a positive attitude and stay strong, or you don't have one. Your choice."

"What do you do, when you're scared?"

"When I'm scared?"

"Yeah, you've been shot. And you were a sniper. Those … are scary." His dad's bravery scared him sometimes. Parker didn't know too much, just some stories from his mom and once, when he was nine, his dad had sat him down and told him about snipers and what he had done, and about getting shot. He talked about how he would be safer now that he had a better job with the FBI even if sometimes he wasn't home as much. Dad had shown him the bullet scars. Parker had noticed others as well, though Dad didn't talk about those. He'd asked similar questions then, but didn't remember the answers. Mainly, Dad just made _him_ feel safe.

"You just get through. Instinct. You just go with it, and keep your eyes on the prize. You remember _why_, why you're doing this, and who you're doing it for. You know," Dad said, shifting a little to put his arm around Parker, "when I get in a scary situation, I think of you. I know I have to get home to be with you."

"Really?"

"Of course, Park, and every time I see you after those I hug you just a little tighter." He squeezed his shoulder. "So now, I think, it's your time. You gotta be brave for your mom, OK? Can you do that for me?"

"How do I do that?" he asked.

Dad bit his lip. "You tell her that you love her. You hug her and tell her she's pretty even when her hair falls out, which it's gonna do. You be extra-nice to her and Brent, and considerate of them. And you talk to her. You talk to me, you talk to Bones. And we'll be brave for you by listening. You got that?"

He nodded, wiping at his eye. He wasn't crying, not really. "Okay, I got it," he said.

Dad just squeezed his shoulder, and they sat there for a while before finally going back in.


	4. Do Not Speak as Loud as my Heart

Hey all! Sorry this hasn't been updated in forever, but other things had to start taking priority in October — plus, real "Bones" has been just so fantastic that it's hard to stick in my canon Here's the next installment, finally getting to Brennan's POV. The title (fittingly, I think) comes from "The Scientist" by Coldplay. Please read and review.

* * *

Temperance did not get overwhelmed, but if she did, this week would have to qualify as overwhelming. Beyond her own regular administrative, research, lecture, and teaching schedules, the winter fundraising season was starting with this exhibit opening (why fundraising had a season she didn't understand) and she had several meetings with the development team and the other Jeffersonian Institute directors; the biggest exhibit she had overseen yet was opening this weekend and it was required of her to make a speech; Angela had an exhibit opening the _next_ weekend; her editor needed a final draft of her novel; her brother had called, announcing that he, Amy, and the girls would be up for the girls' fall break; Parker had three games that Booth wanted her to be at that week. And now, of course, Rebecca had cancer.

She didn't know too much about cancer; medicine was not her area of expertise. But the type of tumors that Rebecca was describing, in layman's terms, sounded quite severe, and she was very curious to see what the survival rate was. She could not, of course, tell Booth those things, because he loved Parker with absolute ferociousness, and that meant he loved Rebecca as well, simply because of what she meant to Parker.

But her respect for Booth didn't mean she appreciated having to _lie_ to Parker about whether or not something was wrong. Her relationship with Parker was far more tenuous than his relationship with either of his biological parents and things like lying could damage it very easily. She did not like being put in that position, and she did not like that Booth and Rebecca felt it necessary — especially when, in all likelihood, the rest of Rebecca's life could be measured in months. Parker could become very angry with her.

"Hey," Booth said, walking into the living room, where she was working on editing the latest manuscript. The TV was turned low, and some cartoon Parker had been watching flickered across the screen — round children in ski parkas. Booth held a mug of tea in his hands.

"Hey," she replied, turning down the Snow Patrol humming on her iTunes. It was getting fairly late. Parker had finished his homework and she'd already read to and rocked Sophia before coming back downstairs, where she'd found Parker completely passed out. His laptop had been partially open and had slid between his body and sofa — she'd assumed he was online IMing his friends.

"How's it going?"

She looked over the pile of documents that she had already looked at — an article she was peer-reviewing, a finalized seating arrangement for Saturday, fundraising campaign projections, proposals for two upcoming exhibits, a memo outlining the expected Congressional funding the museum could receive for the next fiscal year, her next-semester syllabus to submit to the head of the Anthropology Department at Georgetown. She hated spending the entire evening working, but it was necessary this week. And there was, of course, the novel. She was making absolutely no progress on looking over her editors' notes right now.

"Just the book, currently," she said. "I should work on it for at least another hour, though I suppose another alternative would be to get up early to work on it. Parker in bed?" She reached up for the cup of tea, which he handed over willingly.

"Yep. Even convinced him to put on pajamas," Booth said proudly.

"Did you set his alarm for tomorrow?" The last thing they needed was Parker oversleeping.

"Of course," he said, lifting her feet and settling them on his lap. "We're going on a run tomorrow morning, he wants to try to make it all the way to the Washington." He probably would, too. Parker was very persistent and competitive. He was also extremely athletic, and even at almost-12 could probably run the six-mile loop.

"He's suspicious, you know," she said. "He asked me if I would ever lie to him." She bit her lip.

Booth nodded and started kneading her socked feet. She realized he had been expecting something like this. "What did you say?"

"I told him … that sometimes parents lie when they feel it is necessary to protect their children."

"Did you tell him you were lying?"

"I told him he couldn't trust my answer now that he knew that I would lie," she said. "I don't like this, Booth. At all."

"Becca just needs a few days to process," he said. "This is her way, we respect that."

She was going to point out that this was something about Rebecca that irritated her greatly — whenever she needed time to think, she simply gave them extra time with Parker, as if she was being benevolent instead of being detrimental to Parker's relatively stable family structure. What did parents who had stayed together do when one of them got bad news, ship the kids to a hotel for a week? That, however, would irritate Booth, who really looked like he would not appreciate that.

"I realize that," she said. "I just question the wisdom due to how serious her condition most likely is."

"I meant to ask you," he sighed, stopping his ministrations on her feet. "How serious are we talking?"

She shrugged and wiggled her feet to indicate that he should not have stopped. "Assuming they confirm the cancer tomorrow via biopsy, we can't really know until the laparotomy, which is Monday. They'll determine then, based on how far the cancer has spread and the size of the tumor, how serious it is," she sighed, trying to phrase it sensitively, like Booth would. She bit her lip.

"Aw, Bones," he muttered, stroking her cheek and pulling her closer.

"If it is serious, survival rates are relatively low, and fairly unpredictable," she said. "Booth, I really worry about _not_ telling Parker — he needs to get used to it."

"This weekend," he said. "He's not going to miss anything, really." He eyed the manuscript. "You still working on that?"

She grinned. "Not if there's something else that can take priority." She leaned in and kissed him, sliding her hand around his neck.

They kissed for a few minutes, and just as his fingers began to flirt with her hemline, she remembered something that absolutely _had_ to be done that night, or her best friend would kill her. "Damn," she said, pulling back. "We have to fill out Joe's preschool recommendation forms."

"Bones, seriously?" he asked, continuing to stroke her spine, his lips working at her neck.

"Yes. They're due at the schools Friday and if I don't get them to Angela tomorrow she'll be quite upset. And besides, whatever preschool Joe goes to Talia will go to, and we'll probably send Sophia there as well so that she can have a friend already. The kids might not go to the same schools otherwise." She ducked her head to kiss him on the lips.

"Bones, the preschools Angela is talking are _twenty _thousand dollars." He finally pulled back and rested his forehead on hers.

"So?" she asked blankly, though she had to admit it was odd for her friend to put such stock into finding the 'right' preschool. If it was cost, though — her entire advance for the novel started shortly after Sophia's birth (the one now in its final editing stages) had been turned into a trust for Sophia's education and eventual inheritance. It totaled just over three million dollars, without interest or inflation, and would likely be worth five million by her 25th birthday. "It's a _trust_ for her; we should utilize in the best way possible for her. It's silly to let it just sit there."

"It's a lot."

"If we pay 30,000 per year for tuition through 12th grade, which is a high estimate, we'll barely be paying more than a half-million dollars. Throw in another 300,000 for college and she's still only used a fifth. Would you rather she buy shoes?" Something else occurred to her. "You know, most schools accept students for seventh grade. We should see if Parker wants to switch to Sidwell or a similar school next year."

"Sidwell?" he asked, disbelievingly.

"It's a wonderful school," she reasoned. "I don't want him feeling left out when Sophia likely goes to a private school. And, really, do you want him spending his entire trust on motorcycles and candy?" When she and Booth had moved in together, she'd insisted on setting up a trust for Parker, as well, which was worth approximately as much as Sophia's. "Sidwell would be a pretty good fit for Parker, too — Dr. Worthington was saying how his daughter Grace is going to China for three weeks through a particular program of theirs. It sounded quite interesting."

"Bones, the president's girls go there."

"They do, I think the president's youngest daughter would be in Parker's grade," she said, trying to calculate the age of the girl, whom she had only met once or twice. Yes, she was definitely Parker's age.

He sighed. "Run-of-the-mill G-men don't send their kids there."

"Seeley, you're _hardly_ a run-of-the-mill G-man, and you shouldn't tell yourself that," she said. "You remember? Your place in the hierarchy of this city and government grant you access to these schools for your children."

"Parker and Sophia don't need to go to a snotty, expensive school to know they're smart."

"You want the best for them, I _know_ that. Remember that case with those horrid children who murdered the nanny? You wanted to send Parker to the best schools then," she said. "And these schools _are _the best. It doesn't make them any more or less intelligent. Or more or less elitist — that would be combated at home, if need be, according to you, which I now accept. But they're good children who have good parents who should go to good schools."

"I'll talk it over with Bec," he finally acquiesced.

"You know, these places have much stronger security as well. Considering some of the things we've seen, it wouldn't be a bad thing for them to go to a school with an elite security force."

"I'll talk it over with Bec," he said again, smiling a little this time.

"I need to finish these forms," she said. "You're a distraction — I'll meet you upstairs in 20."

"Make it 15," he replied, giving her a lingering kiss.

She didn't know when, exactly, she and Booth became _this. _Their escalating battles for control, where a clear victor always emerged, had turned into a sort of give and take, dependent upon issues and circumstances. Thus, they had married, because she knew the title was important to him, despite the fact that she didn't feel a need to prove 'forever' could exist. And they had both given up their previous jobs, though each would have preferred things to remain the status quo, out of concern for the other and for their family. And she would probably win the private-school argument, because Booth implicitly trusted her with educational matters. They bickered and bantered, they were still exceptionally competitive, they could still talk for hours and never get bored with each other, but it had mellowed, settled into pattern. Part of it was their changes in jobs: the moments she now considered significant became so small, so quotidian, in their relative importance and danger, when compared being kidnapped or assaulted. Moments like those simply could not happen again. Now, life was things like exhibit seating charts, preschool recommendation forms, and honey-the-kids-are-asleep sex.

Brennan knew, objectively, that she was not a natural mother. She loved Sophia, so much it always surprised and scared her, but was only too happy to let the nanny and day care handle her for most of her waking hours. When Booth offered to stay up with Sophia when she was sick or cranky, she only protested out of feelings of equitability, and always caved. Angela was hellbent on repopulating the world — she wanted at least one more child after the twins were born in December — but she could barely consider a second child, even hypothetically. She had no idea why Parker was apparently so partial to her, especially because he didn't particularly care for Brent.

She didn't know what to think of it, a lot of the time. She hadn't believed in happily-ever-after since 15, and really not even before that, though she genuinely looked forward to spending the rest of her life with Booth. And she still missed so, so many aspects of her life from five years ago. She had trouble picturing herself as part of a normal, ordinary family unit. She knew that she wouldn't be able to do _this_ — marriage, Sophia, Parker, even her new job — unless it was with Booth, and the thought scared her a bit. And she constantly wondered whether the _interestingness_ of herself had been replaced, eliminated; supplanted by her daily mundanities. She no longer kicked anyone's ass, or was frog-marched by rebel soldiers, or disappeared on dangerous digs for weeks on end. She did paperwork and cleaned and sometimes got to write a novel.

Still, it was so much fuller than her earlier years.

The next few days were such a flurry of activity that she nearly forgot about Rebecca's illness. She went in to work extra-early on Wednesday so that she could take the after-practice pickup, and then Angela had her, Sophia, and Parker over to the Conner to see what she had completed of her latest exhibition of high-concept digitized art. Angela had quit the Jeffersonian a little over a year ago, shortly after Cam's departure, and now devoted herself to art, Joe, Talia, and the upcoming twins.

"This stuff is really _cool_," Parker said, staring at a black-and-white silhouette of a naked, pregnant woman that pulsated with red.

"Easy, there, Park-o," Angela said. "What if I said that was your stepmother?"

"_Gross_," he said, fleeing the painting and going to look at a sexually suggestive electric-blue flower instead. She could see why Angela invited them along on a day that Booth had to work.

"Angela, that silhouette _clearly_ isn't mine," she said. "We share none of the same physiological markers. It's undoubtedly you."

"Yeah, I don't want Park staring at _my _chest either," Angela said, lightly placing her hand on the burgeoning baby bump. "So what's up? You're acting weird and Parker's with you on a Wednesday."

She checked, to make sure Parker was a sufficient distance. "Well — Rebecca was diagnosed with ovarian cancer yesterday, and wants us to keep Parker until she figures out what she's doing," she shrugged. "I feel Parker needs to be informed; Booth, of course, prefers to abide by her wishes and keep him in the dark until the weekend."

"Go with the hubby on this one, Bren," Angela advised. "This is going to turn into one messy puddle of emotion waaay too quickly already."

"The earlier everyone understands what's happening, the less likely that is to happen," she argued. Angela gave her a dubious look, and then Parker yelled "Mom!" to show her a sculpture that, surprisingly, did not pulsate, move, or display overt sexual overtones. Her heart panged at the word — Parker had been calling her that for a while now, though she noticed he didn't call Brent _Dad_, and she had accepted the honor. Now, though, considering what was to happen, it made her uneasy.

Of course, on the one night that she was supposed to have for a yoga class, Booth was held up waiting from a task force out of the L.A. office that was moving in on a Mexican turf war concerning drug smuggling. For some unfathomable reason, Parker wanted "breakfast for dinner" and basically nothing else, so she made blueberry pancakes and soy sausages. Parker had minimal homework, so they all took Asta on a walk, and then she put Sophia to bed while Parker watched TV, and she finally convinced him to go to bed early, promising to take him and three friends through the new ocean exhibit the next day to give it a trial run. Booth found her passed out on her office couch, the godforsaken manuscript in her lap still, and he teased her for leaving soy sausages out for him, as if he would eat them. They went into the kitchen, where he sautéed up steak, eggs, and hash browns, and she stole hash browns as he recounted his day.

Thursday morning she locked herself in her office to finish both her manuscript edits and her speech for the gala. Finally finished around noon, she spent the rest of the afternoon in meetings, until Parker and his _four_ best friends (Carter _and _Mitchell wanted to come, he explained, and he liked Carter better but Mitchell really liked science so he felt bad saying no) showed up for an exclusive tour of the oceans exhibit. After they assured her that yes, it was totally middle-schooler-friendly, she bought them all organic chicken fingers from the Atrium Café, as was customary.

Friday was all meetings, meetings, and a few sneak-peaks of the exhibit, which she was expected to pop in to. She made it home relatively early, though, 7:00 (Booth brought the children and their best Booth-inherited begging faces in to drag her out), and they watched action movies with Parker's friend Tyler, which was good because it meant she could write _and _get a foot massage, without particularly irritating Booth, as long as she kept the key-clattering to a minimum. She only had two more books remaining on her contract (one of which was already heavily outlined), bringing the Kathy Reichs novels to an even 10, and she was seriously considering not renewing her contract. It made sense; the first novel had been started as a way to fill the hours when she couldn't be in the lab, and they had been successful so she had continued to do them for the income and the way puzzling over a plot could keep her brain going. But she had other things now that were more demanding of her time. Like her daughter.

Of course, then, on Saturday, Sophia woke up with a cold, the dry cleaners had not pressed her dress by noon as requested, and her editor wanted more revisions to the manuscript and suggested they do a brainstorm session/photo shoot in New York later that week. After snippily informing Amelia that it would take three months to get something like that onto her calendar (and thinking again that 10 books would be more than adequate), she hung up, feeling much better about herself, until Parker found out about the cancer and decided it was all her fault.

When Parker dazedly left the kitchen (his pie was only half-eaten, she knew he must be extremely upset), Sophia started shrieking, so Brennan quickly went upstairs to get her. By the time she reentered the kitchen, Booth was gone, presumably after Parker. Rebecca was the only person left. The blonde was sitting at the table, her chin angled down so her hair shadowed her face. Brennan stared at her awkwardly, lips pursed, and finally asked her if she'd like anything to drink.

"Oh. Um, yes. Water. Would be lovely," she finally said.

Brennan tried to set Sophia down, but she immediately started whimpering. She surmised she was likely still running a fever. The babysitter for tonight would _not_ be pleased. "Here, I'll take her," Rebecca volunteered. Sophia was somewhat familiar with Rebecca, so she settled into her arms fairly easily, just happy to have someone warm hold her. "It seems like yesterday that Parker was this age," she murmured. "It's such a good age."

Brennan smiled. "It really is. Watching her cognitively develop is fascinating. Every day there's something new — a new word, something new she can do, something she's learned." She set a glass of filtered ice water in front of Rebecca and a Sippy cup of organic no-sugar-added apple juice in front of Sophia. She grabbed the pie tin and put the lid on it before sliding it in the fridge. "Isn't there, baby girl?" she smiled at her, and started working at the dishes in the sink. She had to do _something. _

"Thank you," Sophia said, clutching the cup and clumsily taking a sip.

Rebecca laughed. "I don't know how you do it," she said, her voice almost, but not quite, envy-free. "I can't get Parker to say that _now_, let alone when he was one."

She shook her head. "She has an unusual aptitude for mimicking phrases; I doubt she'll continue to use it when she's Parker's age. And Parker … well, Rebecca, he's just lovely."

Something caught in Rebecca's expression, and she started playing with Sophia's hair again. "Thank you. I … appreciate it. No matter what happens, I know Parker will be loved and taken care of, right?"

"Rebecca," she said, unsure of the appropriate and reassuring wording, "I love Parker, and he means the world to Booth, but you're a huge part of Parker's life. The bond between mother and child is the strongest in nature." She knew that Parker would probably assimilate normally into culture at this point if he were to lose his mother, but she knew also knew now how that could destroy him. Send his life on an unimaginable trajectory. Like Booth's. Like hers.

"Temperance, you of all people should understand that I'm probably facing low odds. I don't _want_ to think that way but it's hard not to wonder."

"Statistics _exist_ because some people beat them," she said. True, but rarely; she had no other adequate response. "There's no reason why you can't, too."

Rebecca looked like she was going to argue, but instead she just bit her lip and sat back.

The Booth boys came back in then, and Parker said, quietly, "I'm ready to go, Mom." Rebecca nodded and hugged him tightly.

"You know I love you, so much, right?" she asked, stroking his cheeks and hair.

He nodded. "I love you too. Will you just please… tell me things? I'll be less scared that way."

"Okay," Rebecca said. "Tell you what, I'll even take you and you can meet my doctor and ask him questions."

"Thank you," Parker said.

"Got all your stuff, bub?" Booth asked lightly.

"Yep, all packed already," he said. "It's all in Mom's car."

"Alright," Booth said, hugging him. "I love you, bub."

"Love you too, Dad," he moved toward Brennan, and she wrapped her arms around him tightly. "Bye, Bones. Love you."

"Love you, too, Parker." He kissed Sophia, who was now resting in her high chair, took his mother's hand, and they disappeared out the front.

"You two have a man-on-man talk?" she asked him, moving to finish the dishes.

"Man-to-man, and yeah. We'll see how the next couple of weeks go." Booth stood behind her and wrapped his arm around her waist, and then did that thing where he inhaled her shampoo. She stopped for a while and snuggled her scapulas into his pectorals.

"He's a strong, resilient pre-adolescent, Booth," she said.

"I know," he said. "I just didn't want him to have to go through this kind of thing."

"What exactly were you supposed to do to stop it?" she asked reasonably, and turned to face him, her hands resting gently on his shoulders. "There is nothing in this situation that you, yourself, could have prevented. This was something you couldn't protect Parker from, so don't even try."

He looked at her, slightly taken aback. "You sure you haven't started accepting Sweets' psychobabble?"

She smiled lightly. "No. I just know you, Booth. You simply have a heightened protective nature sharpened through external factors such as your experiences as a sniper, FBI agent, and father. Sweets' psychobabble would tie it into your 'control issues' or 'family history.'" She was pleased that she used two of Sweets' favorite phrases. "And you know I don't believe that."

They studied each other for a moment, his hands on her hips and her fingers trailing the periphery of his face, until Sophia, impatient and irritable, banged her fist on the tray and shrieked, "Momma! Daddy!"

Breaking out of Booth's loose embrace, she picked Sophia up and felt her forehead again. "I'm kind of worried about leaving her with the sitter, truthfully," she said. "She's still running a slight fever." Sophia began rubbing at her right ear, which made Brennan even more worried. "Do you think she has another ear infection?"

Booth lifted Sophia up, inspecting the clearly miserable toddler. "Probably right, Bones. I'll call Dr. Childers and get a scrip — the thing starts at eight and you have to be there at seven, right?"

"Yes, but we're having Cam, Malcolm, Angela, and Hodgins over for drinks at six. And that's when Chelsea is supposed to come over. And Shawna went to her sister's in Virginia Beach so we can't call her. We really shouldn't leave Sophia with Chelsea, though — she's sixteen and Sophia barely knows her."

"Relax, babe," he said. "You still have to get your dress, right?" She nodded, chewing on her lip. "You track that down, pick up my monkey suit while you're at it, go to that salon appointment Angela made for you, and I'll take care of Sophia." She looked at him uncertainly, but just for a second, and then headed off in search of the dress and tux.

Three hours later she returned, tux and dress in hand and hair spun up into a twirly chignon. Sophia and Booth were in front of the couch, Sophia on Booth's chest, watching some sporting contest — football, on closer inspection. Sophia looked noticeably calmer, and Booth was whispering plays to her. "How's she doing?" she asked, dropping the garments on the chair and scrutinizing Sophia.

"Much better, Mom," Booth said, lifting the baby up for inspection. "Dr. Childers said minor ear infection, we picked up some medicine, and she's had a dose and a little ice cream."

"Still, do you think Chelsea will be able to handle her?" she stroked Sophia's flushed face.

"Nope, and that's why I called in backup."

"Backup? Who, Booth, you can't just hire someone without her, we _vet_ people to_ge_ther," she said.

"_Re_-laaax," he drawled, rubbing his hands up and down her upper arms. "I called up Michelle. Thought it was worth a shot. Turns out she's got a free evening, and could use the night to do some catch-up homework anyways. She'll be here in a half hour. Gave Chelsea the night off."

"Michelle. Perfect," she said. Cam's adopted daughter was now a junior at Georgetown, and Parker and Sophia adored her. They typically had her over for dinner once every two weeks or so — Booth's way of checking up on her for Cam, who had moved to New York to work in the Pathology/Autopsy Department of New York-Presbyterian. Cam now lived with Malcolm, an immunologist, who was sort of a permanent fiancé.

"Right. Seeley Booth here to save the day," he crowed. "You go up and put on the pretty dress, I'll get her fed."

"Have you showered? They'll be here in an hour. I only need to put on the dress and some makeup. You should shower. I'll get the trays together. Really," she said, at his incredulous look.

She and Sophia managed to get the cheese trays and drinks together, and greeted Michelle, whom she was always happy to see. Booth came down at twenty till, when she managed to escape upstairs. Slipping into the snug royal-blue dress, she studied her appearance critically. Her body had largely returned to the proportions she'd had before Sophia, though — much to Booth's poorly disguised delight — her breasts were slightly larger. The gown she'd chosen for the banquet was backless with a boat neck, and had subtle Art Deco accents. A sash around her stomach gave the dress an hourglass shape, and the sash then formed the bottom curves of the back before draping down to the floor. Angela had found it, her fingers flipping wildly through dresses before holding this particular one up. It had been the only dress Brennan tried on.

Holding the shoes she intended on wearing, she went back downstairs at five after. Jack and Angela had already arrived, and were shrieking at the sight of Michelle. Angela, unsurprisingly, was dressed in pink neon and sparkles; Hodgins had a "Fight the Power" button.

"Meesh, honey, grab a drink and _tell me_ everything that's going on in your life," Angela said, swinging an arm around Michelle.

"Ange! She's here to babysit," Brennan said, entering the room. "And see her mother. _And_ she's only 20."

"Why didn't you tell me you got Michelle?" Angela asked accusingly. "Joe and Talia would have gone _nuts. _Instead, they're stuck with Jessica from next door. Not as cool."

"Sophia's sick — ear infection. We needed someone who Sophia knows," Brennan argued back. "By the way, thank you, Michelle — I just really didn't trust the original sitter."

"No problem," Michelle said gamely. "You know I love the kids. Shouldn't Parker be around?"

The doorbell rang then, and Booth handed Brennan a glass of water as he went to answer it.

"He's with his mother this weekend, actually," Brennan said, nodding.

"Did you … tell him?" Angela asked.

"Yes, this afternoon," Brennan confirmed. At Michelle's patient, confused look, she said, "Rebecca was diagnosed with cancer earlier this week."

"Rebecca has _cancer_ — what — Michelle!" Camille exclaimed, walking in wearing a black satin dress. "I didn't think we'd get a chance to see you with your schedule."

"Hi, Mom. Hi, Malcolm. And I didn't have anything to do tonight, it was just a girls' night, basically, and then Booth called because Sophia's a little sick." Michelle hugged her mother.

"Hey, sweetie," Cam said, hugging Michelle back. "Sophia's sick? Rebecca has cancer?"

"Soph's got a little bit of an ear infection, nothing our girl can't handle," Booth said. "Rebecca, well — she…" he suddenly stopped talking.

"She was diagnosed with ovarian cancer earlier this week," Brennan finished for him. "She's having exploratory surgery Monday."

There were questions about treatment, mostly from Cam, and about Parker, mostly from Angela. The topic dominated the conversation until she had to leave at twenty till; the others would meet at the cocktail hour.

She gave herself a minute to steady her nerves in the car before going inside. She never particularly cared for so much forced social interaction and tonight was going to be ridiculous — at least 20 senators, 70 House members, a few think-tank presidents, four Cabinet secretaries (at last check), three Supreme Court Justices, and the First and Second Ladies, among others. One hundred academics would be in attendance as well, and several dozen major philanthropists. The event would be so many things: a fundraiser, an exhibit opening, a celebration of success, a way to honor the museum's groundbreaking scientists, an opportunity for networking and posturing and kissing cheeks. This was the sort of thing where she needed Booth. He didn't like it either but he could do it. His abilities left her in awe sometimes.

Booth, thank God, arrived before practically anyone else. While she rarely admitted to valuing his people skills in these situations, preferring to prove herself and knowing that she was currently much more confident in these situations than people gave her credit for, this week had left her drained, which made her punchy and jumpy. "Hey, you okay?" he asked, rubbing a thumb pad over her cheekbone and swiping a glass of water from a passing waiter. "You look like a train's coming for you."

She shook her head lightly. She still didn't like _talking_ things out, but she was a little better at admitting something was wrong. "A little off, I guess. Too much epinephrine and cortisol, not enough serotonin. And you know I don't care for these things too much, anyways."

"Right," he said skeptically, putting his hand on her lower back — just above where the fabric started again — and she knew he wouldn't remove it for the rest of the night.

He did, a few times, of course — once to join his old Army buddy, Michael, for a drink; when she gave her speech; a few times to let someone else, like the Chief Justice, dance with her. She got through her speech without any inappropriate laughter and dinner without any major faux pas. At midnight exactly, as they were doing another twirl around the floor, Booth murmured, "Alright, Cinderella. Let's turn back into pumpkins."

"That's not how the story works," she said — she'd read it to Sophia and been slightly horrified at the morale — but she gratefully stepped off the dance floor. Saying goodnight to everyone, they headed out, opting to take Booth's car home. She was silent on the way home, and Booth shot her a few worried glances. She couldn't help it — she was exhausted. So many things that had happened this week reminded her how fragile and even ephemeral everything really was — Rebecca's cancer, of course, but considering finishing her books and the phony fundraiser and even Joe's preschool applications— and it made _her_ feel ephemeral. While she was as secure and self-confident as she'd been as a single, independent woman, there were now so many _variables_ that acted willfully, made her feel ineffective and useless and just not real, sometimes. She wanted to feel real, and alive, and dynamic again.

So when Booth opened her door she grabbed his lapels and kissed him, hard, just to remind herself that he, at least, was still there. He seemed to get it — he always did — and deepened the kiss before pressing her, gently but firmly, against the SUV. As she started to untuck his tux, though, he leaned his forehead gently against her forehead and said, "I've got to take Michelle back to campus, Bones."

Another sign, of how much everything could change. "Right," she whispered.

However, as she was sometimes inclined to do, Michelle had crashed in their guest bedroom, leaving a note on the kitchen table. They headed upstairs, and she focused on touch and taste until she drifted off, firmly grounded in Booth's arms.


	5. Gotta Be More Than Hoping it's Right

I can't believe I got this one up so soon! Finals procrastination does that. This one is long, but pretty meaty, so let me know what you think! Thanks to everyone for reading. Title from Snow Patrol "Hands Open"

* * *

As soon as he got into the office Monday morning, Booth told Danielle to get in contact with Dr. Lance Sweets of George Washington and fit him in whenever possible that day. Then he told her he was leaving at 4:30 that afternoon, barring a terrorist attack. Parker had absolutely not been able to sleep last night, and Booth had promised he would take him to GWUMC **exactly** at five, and he wasn't going to let him down. Surprised at his conviction, Danielle nodded immediately got to work.

Before he could even finish his e-mail to the director giving him a head's up on Rebecca's condition, Danielle was back, triumphantly announcing that Sweets would be by from 1:00 to 1:40. "Leaving at 4:30 means you have to skip lunch, though," she added, worriedly. As if that was an actual thing to be concerned about. "I was able to move Homeland Security to noon instead of five, and your lunch meeting with the assistant directors to seven tomorrow morning, and your seven A.M. ethics review board breakfast meeting to tomorrow's lunch." He groaned, and asked himself for probably the bazillionth time why he took the job. Oh yeah. The family thing.

He was about five minutes late to the meeting with Sweets, which was pretty good, considering. Sweets sat on one of two visitors' chairs, ankle over knee, fingers drumming enthusiastically. "Deputy Director Booth!" he exclaimed, twisting in his seat when Booth entered. "I never thought I'd see the day when you summoned me to your office to talk. Nice digs, by the way. Dr. Brennan helping you redecorate? Looks way different than it did."

He glanced around. Since Sweets' sole office visit early in his tenure, he'd added some artwork to complement the sports memorabilia and the family photos. Made it look more adult. "The art's Angela's. She would have killed me if I didn't use her stuff." He'd selected carefully, though. Some of Angela's stuff was plain freaky.

Sweets nodded. "Quite understandable. How have you been, Booth? I got the feeling that this wasn't quite a social call."

Sweets, now all of 27 (Bones kept reminding him that _she _was that age when they began working together, which he refused to believe), taught psychology at George Washington and independently consulted on workplace efficacy. He worked out of Foggy Bottom, came over to their place for dinner every week or so, and met Booth for lunch about twice a month. He'd tried a beard for a while, ultimately abandoning it, but his face was a little fuller and his eyes slightly less shiny. Even Booth had to admit that Sweets was a fully-grown psychologist.

He sighed, and sank into his chair. "No, it's not. Becca — Parker's mom — was diagnosed with cancer last week. Ovaries, spread to her uterus so far. It sounds pretty bad — Bones is refusing to put a finger on a time frame, and so is Cam, and I know what that means. I'm just not sure what to expect from Parker, or what we're supposed to do to help him."

Sweets leaned back. "Booth, I'm so sorry."

He shrugged. "Hey, it's not me. And telling him didn't go well so I figured I'd ask someone …"

"Right. Well. Parker's a very bright 11-year-old whose natural curiosity has only been exacerbated by the amount of time he spends with Dr. Brennan. He's at the age where cognitively he can grasp it, and his need to know means you — and Rebecca, and Dr. Brennan, and Rebecca's husband — need to answer every question that he has. You need to explain every procedure, and what's happening, to him. In situations like these, it's even more important to maintain the network of support from parents and step-parents, this means lots of communication from parents."

Booth grimaced. "We couldn't — just, you know?"

"Tell him everything's ok and you love him? No. Absolutely not."

Damn.

"You could pick up some literature, telling him what to expect. See if you can get the oncologist to sit down with him and talk over what's happening. Answer any questions he has, even if it's with an _I don't know_." Double damn. Bones would be happy to hear she'd been right.

"Children often get very angry at parents, or a higher power, for cancer, so let him be a little angry but also make sure he keeps communicating with all of you. Also, don't let your protective instincts prevent Parker from seeing his mother or experiencing her illness. Finally, Parker's pretty well adjusted but he's still had a lot of changes to cope with in the last couple years. His emotional stress will likely be pretty high. Make sure he still feels stable. If you think he needs it, I'll take him out for an ice cream and talk to him."

"Right. OK. Cool, Sweets."

"Wait. Not so fast. How are you doing?"

"I told you. Healthy as a horse. I'm fine."

"Booth, while she is not still your romantic partner, Rebecca has still been your primary partner in raising Parker for the last 11 years. You still have a deep, invested relationship with her. And since here even your protective nature and gun and badge can't stop bad things from happening to her or Parker — this can't be easy for you. _Especially_," and Sweets got this triumphant, irritating look, like he hit the jackpot, "since you never said good-bye to your mother."

"Sweets, really, I'm fine. And don't bring up my mother," he said. "Thanks for coming in, though — I'll let you know if Parker needs that ice cream."

"Wait — Booth, I, um, actually I have something to talk to you about." Suddenly, Sweets looked nervous. Really nervous.

Surprised, Booth just leaned back expectantly. This could be good.

"Well, as you know, Daisy and I — we've been together for a while. Well. We've been together, again, for a while. There was that break. But we've been together again, for two years, and we decided — well, I did propose, I'm not that much of an idiot in the romance department —"

"You and Daisy are tying the knot?"

Sweets grinned, somewhat abashedly. "Yeah. Asked her last night."

"Congratulations," Booth said. "That's fantastic." He wanted to make a joke but was honestly too happy for the kid to go through with it. Daisy, for all her quirks, was good for him. Now into her second year as a professor, she'd requested a job at the Jeff shortly after collecting her doctorate; Bones, thank God on behalf of all of them, was able to find a friend on the faculty at American to take Daisy off her hands.

"Great! I'm wicked happy you're OK with it, honestly," Sweets smiled. "Now — I actually, um, have another thing to ask you, and I'm totally expecting at least 20 jokes, so I'm just going to let you know I'm prepared. But I'd really be honored if you'd be my best man, Booth."

Booth sat back, momentarily stunned. "Sweets. Of course. But will you be able to get into a strip club for your bachelor party? Do we need to order virgin drinks?"

"See that? That, I was expecting," Sweets said. Then he grinned. "So you'll do it?"

"Of course. Just yeah, expect the usual. When's the wedding?"

"Daisy wants mid-June. Apparently nine months isn't a lot of time, but we'll see. If not, next fall."

Brent called him around two, said the surgery had gone well and Becca was coming to. He called the school and told Parker the news, but Park was still nervous and upset when he showed up at 5:02 instead of 5:00.

"Dad, you're _late_," he said crossly, settling into the front seat.

"Sorry buddy —there was an issue with white collar in Chicago," he said.

"Of course. White collar in Chicago, sorry, I forgot about them," Parker snapped.

"Hooo. Park-o. Really — I'm sorry. It just happened, alright? How was school?"

Parker shrugged. "Decent. Look, I got another A in English. 96 on my essay — I just forgot a couple punctuation things." He rolled his eyes. Details like commas bored Parker.

"That's awesome, Parker. Your mom will be pretty happy to see that." He remembered, then, his conversation with Bones about Sidwell or the other private schools. "Do you like school, Park?"

He shrugged again. "I mean, it's school, Dad."

"Yeah, I know, but do you like it? Are your classes hard enough?"

He sighed, and his voice took on Bones' I'm-smarter-than-you-are-and-I'm-doing-you-a-favor-by-explaining-this-easy-concept tone. "It's class, Dad. They're not supposed to be hard, and if they are, I just call Bones. I have history homework tonight. Do you think she knows anything about the Knights Templar?"

They were at the hospital by this point, and Parker was out of the car before the brake was on. Seeley could barely convince him to stop at the gift shop to pick up irises for Rebecca.

"Mom!" he shouted, relieved, as they knocked on her door. Rebecca was resting, her eyes closed, and Brent was sitting in a chair next to her, flipping through a car magazine. Parker stopped at the foot of her bed and looked at her uncertainly.

Becca stirred and slowly pulled herself upright. She grimaced as she stretched her abdominal muscles. "Hey, sweetie. Can I get a hug?"

"Will I — "

"You could never hurt me. Besides, they pumped me full of the good drugs. Now get over here." She looked high as a kite in March, though he didn't think Parker could tell.

"I brought flowers. Dad has 'em," he said, moving to hug her tightly.

"Thank you, Parker. That was incredibly thoughtful. They're very pretty."

"Irises are your favorite," he said.

Booth busied himself finding a vase and settling in the flowers. He gave Becca a peck on the cheek and said, "Looking gorgeous, Bec."

"You're a good liar, Seeley," she murmured weakly. "What did you do in school today, Park?"

"I — we started a new unit on the Crusades. I have to do a project on the Knights Templar. That sounds like something Bones would know a lot about, so I think I'll ask her for help. And we had a math test. It was easy — just fractions and mixed numbers and long division. And I aced my English paper. And we're still doing bones in science class. Mr. Abernathy is _finally_ going to call Bones to see if the class can go to the lab."

"Did you ask Temperance if they could come?" Becca settled back into the covers. Her eyes were bug-big in her head, and her skin looked waxy. She was shivering slightly, which Brent also noticed, but neither man wanted to move and worry Parker.

He nodded. "Yeah. I asked her last night. She's cool with it. I want to go to limbo. Dad, do you think Bones will let us go down to limbo?"

"If you don't call it limbo when you ask, maybe," Seeley said.

"Mr. and Mrs. Knowles, we — oh. Hello," a doctor said, popping in. A second doctor soon followed.

"Dr. Nixon, Dr. Hakim, this is my son, Parker Booth, and his father, Seeley," Becca said. "Seeley, Park, this is Dr. Nixon, the oncologist, and Dr. Hakim, the surgeon."

"Nice to meet you," Dr. Hakim, dressed in scrubs, said, extending his hand. Dr. Nixon soon followed suit. "How are you feeling, Mrs. Knowles?"'

"Like someone just ripped out my insides," she said dryly. Seeing Parker's horrified face, she said, "I didn't mean that literally, honey. How did everything turn out?"

Both doctors looked hesitantly at Seeley and Parker. "Parker, can you go to the gift shop and get me a magazine? I'd like _Allure_," Becca said, not taking her eyes off the doctors.

"But Mom! You _said_ I could know stuff."

"I'll tell you the stuff later, OK? Don't argue, please. This is doctor stuff first. Brent, please grab my bag."

Parker sighed aggrievedly, argued back in a daring tone, "I'll just Google it, anyways, you know."

The three parents exchanged looks. "We _really_ shouldn't've gotten him that laptop," Brent muttered.

"You didn't buy it for me, Dad'n'Bones did," Parker said exasperatedly.

"Park! Apologize to Brent," Seeley said quickly.

Parker gave him Bones' best _stumped_ look. "Why? You did. It was my last birthday present."

"It was disrespectful."

"Why? It was _true_."

"That's not an excuse, and you know that. Apologize."

"Why was it _wrong_?"

"Okay! You know what, Parker? Stay, leave, I don't care. Up to you." Becca said, grinding her teeth.

"Okay. I will," Parker said, though he looked a little perturbed as to why his mother looked so irritated. They'd have to have that speech about manners and tact. It was moments like that having Bones as a co-parent was so difficult.

"Seeley's fine," Becca said when the doctors continued to look at Booth warily. Booth glowered in return. "Besides, he has a gun, so it's in everyone's best interest that he knows what's going on."

Booth sighed. "Look, I'm not a serial killer; I work for the FBI. But yes, we'd appreciate it if you would… talk." He reached for his cell phone and flipped it completely off, noticing that he had missed two calls from his brother. Weird.

The two doctors sighed, and then Dr. Hakim spoke. "We performed a laparotomy today, searching your abdominal cavity for cancerous growths. There — were several, in the ovaries, fallopian tubes, uterus, colon, bladder, lymph nodes, liver, and lungs. We were able to resect most of them. A few, especially in your ovaries, fallopian tubes, uterus, and lymph nodes, were quite large, and we removed the entire organs in those cases. Given how far the cancer had metastasized, Dr. Nixon is prepared to diagnose the cancer as Stage IV." Shit. Booth knew there were four stages.

"What's that mean?" Brent asked.

"It's not an ideal starting point," Dr. Nixon hedged.

"What's that mean?" Seeley asked, adding an edge to the question.

"A few things. One, you must know that this cancer is pretty aggressive. To get from an undetectable level seven months ago to this level is _highly_ unusual. Should chemotherapy be successful, there's a high risk of recurrence. Five-year rates hover around 17 percent for this type." Both Brent and Seeley spun their heads to look at Becca, who visibly paled and blanched, before biting her lip, setting her jaw and nodding. The doctor continued. "It's impossible, however, to determine your _individual _prognosis without seeing how you respond to treatment, so I wouldn't start thinking about that. It doesn't mean anything yet."

Becca looked significantly more composed than he would have expected, sitting up a bit straighter with a glint in her eye. "We need to pursue a similarly aggressive path of treatment — I'm recommending six three-week rounds of chemotherapy, followed by radiation," the good doctor continued. "Each round will consist of three days in chemotherapy and four days off to eradicate the tumor cells. We need to wait about two weeks to start. We'll reevaluate after every round. Right now, I would like to start HRT to combat the hormonal fluctuations caused by the removal of your ovaries. I'd like to keep you in the hospital until Thursday or so."

"Perfect. Just in time for my sister to show up."

"Your sister's coming? Which one?" Seeley asked.

"Both," Becca smirked. "Lisa arrives Thursday and Sarah's coming Friday. Don't get too excited."

"Can't wait." Both of her sisters disliked him. Brent didn't look happy about the development either. He didn't blame the guy — Lisa was totally overbearing and Sarah was borderline a shrew.

"So wait — when's Mom going to start feeling better? It sounds like you got a lot of the bad stuff out," Parker asked.

"We're not sure yet," Dr. Nixon said. "It's too early to say. But your mom's a fighter, isn't she?"

"Yeah," Parker said, but he still looked concerned. Booth knew he wasn't quite buying all of it.

"We'll be back tomorrow to go into the treatment more in depth, once these drugs have completely worn off," Dr. Nixon said. "Does 10 a.m. sound good?"

"I'll be here," Becca said. "Is there any chance that we could have a conference or something on Friday afternoon? We can talk everything out, Dr. Nixon, between you and me and Brent tomorrow, but I'd like everything laid out for everyone involved — my sisters, Brent, Seeley. Even Temperance, Seeley. If she wants to." That was another good thing about Becca; that she _got_ things. Including that Booth would need to be included and that Bones should be as well.

"She's in New York Friday. I can't get off work until at least six, not with the time I've been taking off."

"I've got Saturday rounds, if that would work better for all involved," Dr. Nixon offered. "Just call my office."

"Thank you. I think we would really appreciate that," Becca said. The doctors left, and she said, "OK, Parker, your turn."

"What'd they mean?" He had that angry, protective _Booth_ look on his face.

"It's — not great, honey. The cancer's in a lot of places. And right now my body's very tired from the surgery. So in two weeks, we're going to start chemotherapy."

"And that's going to kill the rest of the cancer?"

"It'll try. It's a drug, I sit in a chair and it comes in an IV. It'll make me pretty sick, though, like we talked about."

"And they don't know how long this'll take?"

"No, baby, not yet. They needed to do the surgery to see if they could tell, and now it looks a little worse, so they need to do some more stuff. And now," she said, "I need to talk to your dad. So how about you and Brent go get a snack, because I bet you're starving." Parker nodded mutely and went off to the cafeteria, looking only _mildly_ scarred for life.

Booth was about to open his mouth — ask her how she was, because she hadn't looked good since the doctor gave the percentages — when Becca held up a hand. "Save it, Seeley. And don't even try to apologize for Parker's comment; we both know that's mostly him being eleven," she sighed and shook her head, and he wondered if he should feel so defensive. "I just wanted to get things with Parker worked out peacefully without him here."

Booth nodded. "What about dropping him off at your place after practice on Friday? We can get back on his regular schedule after that. I talked to Sweets —"

"You talked to your teenaged life guru about Parker?" she interrupted.

He looked at her levelly. "I'm worried about my kid, Bec. _And _you, you know."

"I know. I'm worried about a lot right now." She allowed a tear to escape, and shook her head bleakly.

"Hey, now. You heard the good doctor — those numbers don't mean _anything_ right now." He reached for a tissue and handed it to her, tentatively rubbing her shoulder.

"They do, actually. Every single one of those women in that eighty percent that died probably heard the same thing. But right now I'm tired and actually in a _lot_ of pain and on a _lot_ of drugs, Seeley, and I just really need to focus on what I have to say right now."

"What do you need to say, Becca?"

"First — Parker. Like you said, back to normal."

"That sounds good," he said. "Sweets said try to keep things as normal as possible."

"That's what the doctors said too. The second thing is — please don't hover."

"What?"

"Hover. You know, threaten to shoot doctors, run background checks on nurses, any of your typical, misguided white-knight stunts. I get that you need to be involved for Parker's sake, and that you're a very good father, but you're kind of intimidating. Especially with the gun and the badge and the threats about background checks, and I want to make sure you don't loiter. Or feel responsible, or obligated to do anything, really, beyond being there for Parker. This … this isn't yours, ok? I really need you to stay out."

He wanted to argue, to take charge and tell her how wrong and stubborn she was, but then he looked at her, shriveled and sick and shivery, and knew this was non-negotiable. "Wherever you want me — or don't want me — I'm there, Becca." Damn. He was getting too frickin' soft.

She eyed him warily. "I mean it, Seeley. If you get hostile, I will get hostile. I don't want … I don't want a fight. I don't want to waste energy arguing with you."

"I mean it, Becca. I won't get … hostile." That was a massively unfair description of what he did, anyways.

"Thank you," she said, sitting back in the bed. "Is it OK if Brent picks Parker up from practice the next couple of days and lets him come visit me? He'll get him back around seven or so — I'll be exhausted and, from what I understand, doing homework together is a thing for Parker and Temperance."

"Yeah, yeah, that'll work."

Parker and Brent came bouncing back in then, and Booth successfully maneuvered him out of the room in under ten minutes, which was a minor miracle. Parker seemed noticeably lighter on the ride home, and chattered about everything he forgot to tell Mom and needed to tell her tomorrow. He didn't know why Park was so relieved, but he wasn't going to fight it.

Bones met them at the garage door, which was weird, with her lips pursed and a wild look in her eyes. Shit. "Hey, Bones, what's up?"

"Seeley, you know that these days, it's perfectly _acceptable_ to have your phone on in the hospital?" She hissed, looking uncertainly behind her.

"Is everything OK?" he asked, flipping through possible disasters.

"Hey, big bro! Parker, my man! Gimme some skin!" Oh. A surprise appearance by Jared would certainly set Bones' teeth on edge.

"Uncle Jared!" Parker shrieked. "What're you doing in town?"

"Had some meetings at DoD today, thought I'd drive into town to see what the coolest 11-year-old in the world is up to."

Jared was a consultant with a defense-contracting firm based in New York City; his salary and Midtown loft made Booth want to hurl. He flew down every few months extolling the virtues of the private sector and not being "tied down:" trips to Europe or China or some godforsaken adventure-tourist destination every year; a long-term noncommittal relationship with a woman named Dylan; and a sound system that cost more than Booth made in a month. Still, Jared had matured slightly, which Seeley gave him credit for. He no longer drank, had started investing his money through Bones' accountant, and showed up when he said he was going to.

Parker happily slapped his uncle's hand before turning around, in front of Bones, so Bones could slide his backpack off. Bones escorted him inside, and Booth heard her ask how Rebecca was doing.

Jared shrugged slightly. "Sorry I sprung a surprise on your evening, by the way. I tried to call a couple of times but your phone was off. Tempe said Rebecca had surgery today? The hell, Seel?"

"Yeah," Booth grimaced slightly, knowing that Jared would probably consider that something he should know. "Ovarian cancer. Diagnosed last week, they did some exploratory surgery today. It was a little more advanced than we were hoping."

"Damn. How's Parker?"

"He only found out Saturday. Still adjusting, I think. He bounces back and forth. You in town for the night?"

"Me? Nah. Leaving on an 11 o'clock flight. We kinda expected the meetings to go longer, and now the other three guys are shooting the shit in a bar. Decided that wasn't the best place for me so I said I wanted to see my big brother instead."

"Aw, how nice of you," Booth replied. He suppressed the unnaturally strong urge to give Jared a knuckle sandwich. "Don't know how much in the way of hospitality you're going to see tonight, honestly. Last week was pretty tough and all — Bones had a final edit due plus this huge gala thing and I'm completely behind on work because of Rebecca and Parker. And, you know, Sophia got an ear infection — anyways. Long week in the Booth house." They started walking into the kitchen entrance.

"Booth, why don't you and Jared go have a drink in the den while Parker and I get started on this homework?" Bones said. She was standing above Parker, examining his homework assignments for the night. "I ordered us a few pizzas, one pepperoni, one vegetable. And please take Sophia as well. She's playing in the living room." Bones appeared composed and in control now that she wasn't dealing with Jared on her own, but she still was slightly stressed, her eyes and mouth drawn a tad too tightly.

"Nice to see Temperance still wears the pants, Seel," Jared smirked as Booth scooped Sophia up and started down the stairs to the basement.

"We both wear pants, Jare." He flipped the lights on in the den. This was _his_ domain: his jerseys on the wall, his movie and concert posters, his music, his Terrible Towel, his old beer hat sitting on a bookshelf like one of Bones' artifacts. Most of the house was a kid-friendly mix of things they both liked, but they each kept their offices sacred.

"There should be some football on," Jared noted, grabbing the remote for the 103-inch flatscreen. "Damn. I should come visit _every _time there's a game just for this TV."

"Happy birthday to me," Booth said, grinning at Bones' last birthday gift. She'd given him the remote and let him find the TV before announcing there was no way it was going to leave his den, ever. He was more than happy with the arrangement.

"Times like this I wish Dylan knew how to be a best-selling author."

"Please, neither of us touch that money. Coke?"

"Sure. What the hell? Seel, your combined salaries wouldn't cover the mortgage on this place. For god's sake, you're still a Fed. Even if you're second-best Fed now." The house _was_ huge — five bedrooms plus a "mother-in-law suite" in the attic that obviously would never live up to its name, a finished basement, a huge kitchen, dining room, living room, offices for both of them, plenty of room for the kids and dog, a perfect location at 31st and Q.

"You realize in her day job, she's a federal employee too, right?" Jared just shook his head and grinned. "She doesn't want to touch the book money, mostly. One bought the house, though we did the down payment from our salaries and my savings. Parker and Sophia both had a book dedicated to them, and that book is 'theirs,' so the money goes into a trust for them. The others split between charity and investments."

"Damn. You two are sickening."

"Thanks, bro."

"I mean that in the best way possible," Jared took a sip of his Coke and Seeley took a sip of his Sam Adams. "So, Bex, huh?"

"Yeah. Surgery was today. She lost most of the, you know … equipment."

"I wish you'd told me. I could've stayed another day, stopped by to see her tomorrow." Jared and Becca got along really well. They both thought Seeley was too intense.

"It … happened so quickly," Seeley shook his head. "God, she called us last _Tuesday_ to come over so she could tell us her doctor was concerned. It looks bad, Jare. She's pretty concerned. _I'm _concerned."

"Of course you are. Parker's ok?"

"We'll see," Seeley took another sip. "What's up with you?"

"You know. The usual. Work's going alright. Dylan and I are getting kind of tired of each other again," Jared cleared his throat. I'm thinking about jumping, actually. Heard about a job down here."

"What's the offer?"

"Lobbying with a group that represents several contractors, including us. It'd be here in D.C."

"You wanna come back?"

"Yeah. I like D.C. better than New York — slower, I never really took to NYC. I like you government types, even if I don't like your salaries. Dylan and I can finally go our separate ways, it's probably a little fairer to her, you know? And, I mean, you're down here, you're busy as hell, Tempe's busy as hell, maybe I can help you guys out a little." Seeley tried not to look too surprised. Jared was not exactly the World's Best Uncle. "Plus, equidistant from Dad, so no change there."

"How, uh, how is the old man doing?" Seeley hadn't spoken to his father since he was 14 and Jared was 12, and wasn't planning on doing so any time soon, but Jared had resumed contact when he'd grown up (without telling Pops, who thought both boys had no idea what had happened), and Booth wasn't below asking his brother how he was doing.

"Pretty good. Joanne's trying to convince him to do winters in Myrtle Beach but he's not too hot on it."

"Like he'll ever leave Philly."

"That's basically what he's telling Joanne," Jared grinned.

"They still in the same place?" Seeley had gotten the address from Jared once but never followed up on a visit. It had stunned him how close he'd been — Pops had kept them in South Philly and he'd been in Germantown.

"Why? You thinking about visiting?" Seeley simply gave Jared a look, and his brother stopped that. "Yeah, still there. You seen Pops lately?"

"We all went up in July, and Parker and I went up before school started." Booth's grandfather was nearing 85 and still sharp as a tack. "Bones gets up there on her own about once a month, too."

"Booth? Jared?" Bones stepped into the room. "I apologize for interrupting the male-bonding ritual," — Booth knew she was actually dead serious about that part — "but the pizza's here. Jared, could you help Parker set the table?"

"Of course," Jared said, disappearing up the stairs with Sophia in tow.

"How's Rebecca?" she asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Parker said she was doing okay."

He shook his head. "The doctor diagnosed it as Stage IV."

"Booth," she said, her expression changing. "I'm so sorry. Does Parker understand? And — how are you taking it? I can imagine that this must be difficult for you."

"I'm fine. But Parker doesn't really get it, no. I don't think Becca wants him to, either." Her lips pursed in disapproval. "They're discharging her on Thursday. Her sisters are coming this weekend."

"The ones that think you're a hammer?" Bones had never met Lisa and Sarah — thank God for small favors — but had certainly heard of them.

"Tool. Yeah. Both of them." He exhaled. "She also told me not to hover."

"Hover?"

"You know, bug her. Run background checks on doctors."

"You can be annoying that way."

"I'm just taking care of the people I care about."

"Rebecca does have Brent. And this has nothing to do with your aptitude as a father. Or a person, Booth." She was studying him carefully, trying to read him. He'd told her multiple times how bad she was at reading people. It wasn't quite true. She could read him. Very well, and that really couldn't be happening right now. He schooled his face impassively before continuing.

"I know. That's why I agreed."

"You agreed? To stay out?"

"Yeah."

"Huh."

"What?"

"It's just that I can't really picture you _actually_ not meddling."

"Well, I'm going to try."

"I'm just saying — typically, it's a good thing. I want you to meddle, within reason, and always when Parker and Sophia are involved. But isn't this Rebecca's decision?"

Fed up with the angry tinge to both their tones, he asked, "What do you know about Stage IV cancer?"

"I'm not a medical doctor, Booth."

"Smartest person I know." He looked at her levelly.

"It's — really not great, Booth. I'm assuming we need to see how she responds to treatment?" She bit her top lip with her bottom teeth.

"Yeah. We're meeting with the oncologist on Saturday. Me, you, Bec, Brent, her two sisters." God. He would beg Bones to come just so Lisa and Sarah would have someone else to pick at.

"Me? Why would I be there?"

"Well, Becca invited you, and for Parker's sake."

"Are — are you sure me going is actually appropriate?"

"Why the hell not, Bones?"

She straightened her shoulders. "It's just not."

"Do you have a reason?"

"Well, the first is that, especially if Rebecca doesn't want your meddling, I don't think her ex-boyfriend's wife should be there."

"She asked."

"I'm not sure, but I think she was being polite."

"Bones, Becca wouldn't do that."

"Of course she would," her voice finally rose a bit. "She used to do that all the time, you know. Gives you small things she knows you'll appreciate so she can win the larger arguments. It's actually a useful tactic, I've noticed."

"Bones, she _just _got diagnosed with Stage IV cancer. I don't think she's trying that right now — and you said it yourself, we're past that. _I_ would like you there because of Parker and because you can do the mumbo-jumbo smarty-pants thing with the doctor."

"Stop selling yourself short, please. I don't feel comfortable intruding."

"You're not _intruding_, Bones, and sometimes being part of a family is going where you don't feel comfortable. You married me, and Parker and Becca came with that." _Shit_. "Bones — sorry — please?"

She pursed her lips, almost visibly recoiling into herself. Damn. He should _not _have gone there. "Booth — you know I don't — and I still don't. If it really matters to you, I recognize that." Her voice thickened, but her tone was pretty final, and when she got this stubborn and pissy he just really wasn't going to deal with it. Especially when she hadn't pulled the I-got-married-for-you card.

"Dad! Bones! I'm going to eat without saying grace if you don't come up here!" Parker yelled. "I'm starving!"

"Up in a minute, Parker," Bones called before turning back to him. "Also, I need to go back to the museum after dinner. Parker's homework is under control."

"You need to go back in?" he asked skeptically. They usually worked from home if they had to work in the evenings.

"Yes. I was doing a cranial reconstruction today and I didn't get a chance to finish it."

He was pretty sure he knew what she was doing. God. Sometimes he was just an _idiot_. Things were piling up, big, emotional things. All of that made her uncomfortable, triggered her fight or flight response. And otherwise they were at this weird place now, where everything had settled pretty nicely: They both had good, boring jobs and they had a house and they were married and mostly happy and suddenly there was no great internal churning momentum to keep them driving forward. It wasn't quite purposeless, but it was banal, and that was something Bones didn't quite now how to deal with, so she was internalizing and fleeing to her favorite place, which was still the lab.

And the best way to combat this was to be supportive for her, give her her space. Because he needed her. There were few things these days that he could honestly do without having her there, but this one was kind of huge. And she wouldn't be there if he pushed this more. Which sucked, but kind of came with the territory, no matter how he wished — God. It was probably the one thing he would change about her, really; the way she still had trust issues, even after almost 10 years of _always_ being there for her. But being married, trying to keep up with where her crazy genius brain took her, took a lot of work. And it was always worth it. But it sometimes required a lot of sucking it up.

"Alright," he said, stepping toward her, finally, and taking her hand. "I love you."

She gave him a look at first like he was nuts and then said, with a very serious tone, 'You know I love you too, right?"

"Every day."


	6. Time is a Real and Constant Motion

So I had another chapter set to go. And then I decided it wasn't what came next. So here this is, Rebecca's point of view. But it's important, I promise. After this it's back to the regularly scheduled Booth/Brennan drama. For the most part. Lyrics from "I Hope You Dance." Please read and review!

* * *

Having your insides scooped out with sharp instruments was not the worst thing in the world, Rebecca discovered. Nor was having your unbearable oldest sister announce she could commute from Cherry Hill for three days a week to "help" out. As a favor, no guilt involved (right). Nor, even, was being diagnosed with Stage IV cancer and, when you pushed your doctor really hard, being told, "a year would be optimistic." (That was just bullshit you weren't going to believe.)

No. The worst thing in the world was chemotherapy.

She understood that it would be bad. Everyone said so. Dr. Nixon talked a lot about side effects, about how aggressive treatment would be. So did Dr. Harrison, the specialist in genetically linked ovarian cancer. So she prepared. She made Brent clean out the fridge and replace it with tons of organic food (from a market Temperance had recommended months ago); she cleaned everything and stocked up on anti-bacterials; she took a leave from her job even though she adored it. She Googled everything and knew that she would feel nauseous, maybe a little light sensitive. They'd already started her on anti-nausea medications. She would have migraines and be tired and be at higher risk for infections. When she and Brent arrived for her first day, she thought she was prepared.

It wasn't too bad at first. They did a lot of blood work to check her CA-125 levels and god knows what else, even a CT of her still-recovering abdominal cavity, then prepped her veins and rigged up the IV bags. All three doctors had walked her through the treatment, explained the cocktails of drugs and anti-side-effect medications she would be taking. She was prepared. They popped in a movie, _Some Like It Hot_, and she and Brent sat and watched as the drugs were silently pumped into her bloodstream. She was progressively sleepier as the drugs worked through her system, and pretty woozy when they went home. Not that bad. She headed straight to bed and Brent went to pick up Parker.

When she awoke a few hours later, it was an entirely different story. Her body was in agony; the incisions burned and her pulse raced and her stomach felt like someone was playing kickball inside of her. She made it to the bathroom and heaved. The contents of her stomach emptied themselves into a pungent, disgusting mess in the toilet. She'd never seen puke look this angry.

"Mom?" Parker called, running into her bathroom. His eyes widened but he maintained calm. "Mom, is everything alright?"

"Fine, Parker, I'm fine," she rasped, wiping her cheek. Her mouth felt so dry. And her head was killing her.

"Do you want Sprite and Saltines?" he asked. "I can get them."

"That would be great. And get Brent too, ok? Tell him I'd like the pills." To control nausea, she had been given an IV drip before starting the chemo and had been prescribed pills to take at certain intervals after the chemo. She was due for a dosage, thank god.

"Gotcha," Parker said, scampering downstairs.

He reappeared, a few minutes later, a worried Brent in tow. Brent helped her into bed, worriedly stroking her sweaty face, and Parker set the plate and glass on her nightstand.

"Here," Brent said. "The doctor said no more than two of these —"

"What are they?" Parker asked, crawling up on the bed.

"For your mom's stomach," Brent explained, handing her the pills.

"Do they have a name?"

"Um … Reglan," Brent read. "She's got another one for later, too."

"It's supposed to make me drowsy," Rebecca murmured, secretly hoping it would knock her out so she could recover in peace.

"So you're going to go to sleep?" Parker asked.

"Yeah, sorry honey," she said. She'd had so little energy to be with Parker these days, and she'd been hoping the chemo would go easy on her. No such luck. "You cool with doing all your homework with Brent? You can play a little Xbox then, or something." Brent and Parker looked at each other dubiously; Parker _knew_ he was being bribed. But she couldn't help it. Parker and Brent couldn't talk about the deep stuff, anyways, the way she or Seeley or even Temperance could. Beyond that, they had a great relationship. Brent cared for Parker and was responsible and the fact that he still wooed her, chased her, even though she had a kid, said a lot about Brent.

But by the time she met Brent, when Parker was five, Park's heart was sold to the one and only Seeley Booth. When they married three years later, Parker had been such a holy terror at the thought of someone replacing his beloved father that she suggested codifying a joint-custody agreement, simply so Parker wouldn't be so consistently bratty to Brent. Give a little to save a little. Parker had been overjoyed to spend more time with his father.

She knew that was a good thing — Seeley was his father, and Parker was uncannily like him, after all — but it made things just a little more difficult than she would have liked. Brent was phenomenal with him, patient and caring and always ready to ride a bike or toss a ball, and Parker _liked_ him, but always, always preferred Seeley. And since Seeley loved his Bones, Parker had modeled him and liked Temperance much more than he liked Brent. Coupled with the usual pulls of teenagerhood on an 11-year-old boy and sometimes it felt like she was losing her son, though.

"I can call Bones if we get stuck, right?" he asked worriedly.

"Of course, honey," she said. Honestly, it was sixth-grade math. He didn't need to call up Ms. Multiple Degrees. Oops. Doctor. Dr. Multiple Degrees.

She woke up several hours later, as Parker was padding past her door in flannel pants, clearly heading for bed. "Hey, sweetie," she called after him.

"Mom? Do you feel better?" He stood in the doorway, the light arcing behind him.

"A little," she lied. God, her head was _killing _her. And she could barely see straight. Her insides felt so dry. How was that even possible? "Are you heading to bed?"

"Yeah," he said. "I finished all my homework — it wasn't so bad."

"What do you have?"

"A worksheet on prepositions. And some math."

"And you've got a game tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Dad says he probably can't make it, but he said Bones and Sophie might."

"You talked to your dad tonight, huh?"

"Yeah. I wanted Bones to check one of my math problems."

"Oh. Well, maybe Brent or I can come."

"You'll have chemo. You'll be sick," he said matter-of-factly.

"Well, I'm going to try, okay, Park?" Since when had her kid been so perfect and understanding, anyways?

"Alright. Well, I should go to sleep."

"Wait —"

"Yeah, Mom?"

"Do you — want a story, or something?" They hadn't read together since Parker was six, and she had no idea what she might say.

"A story?" he asked skeptically. "Mom, I'm almost 12. And I'm a guy."

"Oh." Right. "Well, alright. Get some sleep, sweetie, okay?"

"Wait," he said. "I guess I could here one story."

"Great," she said, shifting so she was sitting up. "What do you want to hear?"

"Um. I don't know. Your pick," he said, sitting crosslegged at the foot of her sleigh bed.

So she told him about the pet rabbit she'd had when she was little, that Lisa had turned green. It was funny. Really funny, and she knew she told it well. He still looked bored, though. He was a little old for story time.

"How'd you meet Dad?" he asked suddenly.

"What?"

"I mean… I know how you met Brent — that baseball game. And I know how Dad met Bones, through work. But you and Dad …"

She pondered. She and Seeley had been together for a little over a year; she'd ended it when she was five months pregnant with Parker. The relationship had been in shambles from the minute she said she was pregnant. Seeley, despite his good intentions and white-knight tendencies, had been nowhere near capable of handling a marriage, though he said that was what he wanted; she hadn't wanted to marry him just because she was pregnant and, once she'd turned him down, the relationship became too bitter. He'd been stunned by her response and she was scared. She had stopped looking back years ago. They'd never told Parker much about the relationship — just that, in no uncertain terms, they wouldn't be together again.

"We met at a wedding," she said finally. "You remember my friend, Diane? The one with the cat you hate?" Parker nodded. "It was her wedding to Steve — they got a divorce when you were four or so. You dad knew Steve from high school, and I knew her from work, so we were at the wedding and he asked me to dance. We danced for the rest of the night and then he asked me out to dinner. He refused to kiss me until I said yes." And thus had started the most tempestuous, ill-matched, passionate relationship of her life. She'd been way too young; he'd been way too damaged and worked way too hard.

Parker laughed. "And that worked?"

"Yeah. He called me the next day and we out to dinner in Georgetown and walked along the waterfront. It was very romantic." It had not been, actually. It was freezing and his jacket didn't help at all, and then he got a call about a case and dropped her off alone. But her mother had always said kids needed a little romance about their parents.

Parker rolled his eyes. "Gross, Mom."

"_Gross_ is how your dad met Temperance, hey now," she chided. "Work and a dead body and lots of bugs and an argument that nearly got them both fired?"

"Nah, that's not gross, that's just _them_," Parker smiled. "And the baseball game is you and Brent, too, by the way," he added diplomatically.

"Thanks, sweetie," she smiled. They had a really good kid, all things considered. He still looked like he was thinking a little too hard, though, so she prompted, "Something else on your mind?"

"Just… Did you and Dad ever … think about getting married?" Oh, damn. They'd had The Talk with Parker years ago; about how Mommy and Daddy both loved him but didn't want to live together, and Mommy would date other people and Daddy would engage in a massively screwed-up, prolonged courtship of the woman he worked with. "You…you don't _have to_ answer," he said, backpedaling when he saw her hesitancy.

"No, no, it's just …" she smiled sadly. "I … I guess I always figured you wouldn't ask that question, since you never knew us any other way? That was dumb of me, wasn't it?" He shrugged, awkwardly, and she wondered how to phrase it. Seeley was nowhere near the edgy, short-fused, angry guy he'd been; she was nowhere near the melodramatic, inconsiderate spitfire she'd been.

"Yeah, kind of," Parker said, shaking her back to reality. "It's … it's just not something I can talk to Dad about. He just says how much he loves everyone and it worked out for the best for all of us."

"I believe that too, Parks," she said.

"I know. You're way happier with Brent than you were with Jeff or when it was just us," he said, twisting a bit of the quilt in his hand. "I was just wondering, that's all. It's stupid."

"No, it's not. It's important, I get it," she said lightly. "Well…Park, you have to remember, your dad and I were _very_ different back then. It sounds so silly… but it's true. I was twenty-three, and I still had school left and needed to get a good job, and _my_ mom was sick. … And your dad, he had just come back from the Army and … it all moved pretty quickly, and at one point, I just kind of said, 'This is too much, too soon.' I couldn't be all of it at once, not yet. And neither you could he, not yet."

"So that's why you didn't get married? Because you got pregnant?"

"No," she paused, trying to figure how to frame this. "Your dad _did _ask me to marry him, when we found out about you. But I didn't want to rush into things. I didn't want to say yes just because I was pregnant. I loved your father, and he loved me, but … when you're dating, and you're trying to figure out who you're going to be with forever, you have to go through other people. You have to try being in a relationship, and try making things work, and get a little bit older and a little bit better at being a grown-up, so when you meet the person, you're ready for them. And your dad and I, we learned a lot from each other, we really did. And part of what we learned is that neither of us was ready for the whole thing. And that helped us both, knowing what went wrong and what we needed. It got us ready for Temperance and for Brent." She smiled, liking the way all that sounded. "Plus, we got you and — God, Parker, you're probably the best thing that happened to either of us." It was true. Seeley, especially, had changed after Parker. Gotten it together. He'd been in shambles, getting it together, enough to keep her happy. But Parker … Parker had changed Seeley, completely. Lit a fire in him. Given him something to fight for again. Made him less angry. Parker needed to understand that.

Parker seemed satisfied. At any rate, he just smiled and looked more at peace. "Do you think you'll be better in the morning?" he asked, standing to go to bed.

"Positive, babe."

Tuesday was worse, though. She could barely move, and asked Brent to take Parker to Seeley's. It was easier, and she spent the night puking out her guts. And that was the least of her symptoms.

"Am I supposed to feel like a Mack truck just ran over me and then backed up to make sure they finished the job up?" She asked the nurse weakly on Wednesday, after she could barely get out of bed. The nurse nodded grimly.

Seeley came over to pick Parker up that evening for the rest of the week, and she quickly asked, "How bout we change halves?"

"Halves?"

"I want the tail end of the week. I'll be feeling better."

He nodded. "Sure. Parker probably can come over here some afternoons, too. How are you doing with everything — groceries? Things?"

"We're fine. Brent's stocking up before he goes in Friday."

"Brent's going in Friday?"

'Yeah, he's got a _shift_, Seeley." Brent was the second-in-command at Coast Guard Station Washington; part of that_ required_ being on base one weekend a month. It happened.

"You can't just stay _alone_ while he's out on the water."

She shrugged. "I'll be fine."

"That's bull. You can stay with us."

It had been years since she'd gotten truly riled up at something Seeley Booth could say, but that did it. "Knock it off, Seeley," she hissed. "I mean it."

"At least consider it?" he asked, backpedaling a bit. "Seriously. I'm sure the doctor won't like you staying alone."

"Lisa's coming down Friday through Monday. I'll be fine." He looked at her skeptically, clearly torn between respecting her wishes and going on his savior-complex schtick, and she added, "Really, she is. If you want, I can bring her over and you guys can chat."

He looked horrified. "No thanks."

She smiled. "Yeah. She and Sarah are alternating weekends with me. I think Brent would take extra shifts just to avoid them, but he doesn't want them thinking he's a deadbeat." She smiled, but it was really more of a grimace.

"Oh, yeah — why don't they like Brent? They hated me for not marrying you." Never mind it had been her determination that prevented _that _wedding.

"They hated you for _not _marrying me, not because of who you are. They still think I should have married you, not him." She rolled her eyes. She loved Sarah and Lise, but sometimes they made no sense.

"I never thought I'd say this, but they make the Keenan Criminal Element seem like a walk in the park some days."

"See? I'll be fine this weekend," she pursed her lips and started to yell for Parker.

"Wait — one thing, before Park comes down," he said quickly, looking around furtively.

"Yeah?"

"Well — you know how we considered sending Park to private school in kindergarten, and then in third grade?"

"Yes. And we decided that paying for college is more important than paying for elementary school." The trust fund. _Shitshitshitshitshit_. She'd signed off on it, of course, but she hadn't _liked_ it. Who wanted their 11-year-old to have more money than they'd make in a lifetime?

"Well, Bones' friend Angela has a daughter who'll be Soph's grade, and Angela's starting to pick a preschool and kindergarten for her oldest kid. And she and Bones want to send the girls to school together, so they're thinking private. And there's that trust but he shouldn't spend it all on … motorcycles … or something. Plus, Bones pointed out that he's kind of a … you know, a kidnap risk, with my job and all. Anyways. What do you think about transferring to a private school for next year?"

She shrugged, trying not to meet his eye. "His friends are all going to Deal next year and then on to Wilson. And kids from Wilson seem to do fine. My friend Anna's daughter Madison got into Dartmouth from Wilson."

"Yeah, but he's already not being challenged, and he's smart but he doesn't actually _like_ school, you know? He likes school stuff because it's something for him and Bones to do, weird as that sounds. So I'm concerned that he won't stay on top of everything from here on out, once classes get bigger and he gets girls on the brain and his sports commitments up. D.C. public schools _really_ aren't that great, especially with his attitude toward school. And he's Parker, he'll make friends."

She shrugged again; those were all very true. And she was honestly too tired to fight him on stuff like this anymore. "There are tests, right? And interviews?"

"Yeah, a few rounds. They start soon — Bones is on top of all that."

"We should ask him."

"Ask him what?" Parker said from behind her.

"Park —" she whirled. "Dad and I were talking … about maybe sending you to a different school, besides Deal next year."

"Why wouldn't I go to Deal?"

"Well, it's a big school, too many kids, not enough money," Booth explained. "And Angela's nuttier than a Snickers bar and already looking at schools for Joe and Talia, and Bones wants to send Sophia to school with Talia, and they're looking at private schools. And we were thinking you might like to go to school with them 'cuz they get to do some cool stuff. Like, Sidwell, you can go to China with the school for part of the summer."

"China? For the summer? Would you let me go?"

"Yeah, probably, once you're old enough." Seeley didn't look too thrilled about that one, either.

"What about my friends?"

"You wouldn't move, so you could still see them on weekends and after school and stuff. And you'd make new ones."

He shrugged. "Would I get to stay on my hockey team?" Most of Parker's closest friends were on that team, which recruited from a much larger swath than their school district.

"Yeah. Of course. They have a better soccer program than your other school would have, too."

"Oh. Then I don't really care where I go to school, I guess. China, though?"

"Yeah, bub. China."

The two of them left then, headed toward the perfect house of trust funds and acceptable homework help and an adorable baby sister and organic soy milk and the dog Parker absolutely loved more than all four parents combined. To the place where Parker had been slowly developing a whole complete life separate from hers — a process that the last few weeks had seemingly accelerated.

And of course, Brent then got called down to an incident on the base and she was suddenly, horribly alone with her thoughts and her empty nest.

Uncontrollably, she found herself recalling her relationship with Seeley. They'd split for a number of reasons; the ones she'd used at the time were his job, his control issues, his maniacal desire to not discuss anything remotely personal, his instinct always to run _toward_ the danger, not away. She knew that he, in retrospect, viewed their relationship romantically: She had guided him toward Temperance, _the love of his life_. God bless the broken road and all that crap.

That was not one of the reasons they broke up, though. Obviously. She flipped through the book, recalling stories and wondering if she'd told Parker them. She wasn't _Bones_, but she had many, many stories she needed Parker to know. And she didn't necessarily want Seeley telling them to him after she died.

She knew it was silly and dangerous, to be thinking about her own death. It wasn't impending; if she died, it wouldn't be for a while and she'd have advanced warning. And considering the possibility was probably bad for her treatment and recovery. She didn't plan on it happening in the near future, either; that would leave Parker full-time with Seeley and Temperance. Temperance was still a little odd around the edges, and Seeley still had that annoying tendency to get shot, or kidnapped, or tortured. But it was sort of impossible not to think about _it_. It being the way her son would remember her.

Padding upstairs, she found the pink-leather-covered journal her niece Courtney had given her for Christmas last year — one of those generic $14.99 at Target types. She remembered the last episode of _Dawson's Creek_ (she had cried way, way too much) and Jen's video to her baby daughter. She wasn't there yet; a video would be morbid. But. She had this feeling. A just-in-case feeling. She wouldn't tell anyone about this until it was a foregone conclusion. That was different. It was more like … memory insurance. She titled it _THINGS YOU SHOULD PROBABLY KNOW AND I FORGOT TO TELL YOU_, dated it, and began to write.

* * *

Press that button!


	7. It's You that Makes it hard to let Go

Okay, so this is a doozy of a chapter, but please, stick with it and read to the end. Booth and Brennan finally have the Mother of All Fights, and it's important. With a capital I. There's a lot about their views on love and marriage, and I often feel, on the show, they're just showing how Brennan changes her mind and evolves, and Booth just kind of smugly informs her how love will work (even though he's never been married and can't even get the cojones to ask her out). So the end of this chapter, which is important plot-wise anyways, also kind of gets into how Booth maybe sets up these ideals of how a marriage is going to work and how it's different in reality, and Brennan's take on it as well. Booth, Brennan, marriage? Gotta be important.

Also, the response last post really overwhelmed me. I'm glad you all like my little story that could.

Finally, all the eateries and locations mentioned within are real, and awesome, and in D.C. So stop by and visit any of them.

Again, please review. I'm especially curious to see if you guys think they're in character at the end.

* * *

"You need a vacation," Angela pronounced.

"I don't need a vacation, Angela. Though I do have a speaking engagement in Atlanta coming up next week. I'm flying down for the day." Brennan bit into a cherry tomato, wincing as it exploded in her mouth.

"Nobody goes to Atlanta for a vacation, sweetie. And I'm talking beach, bikini, Booth. Or just bed, Booth. That type of vacation."

"We don't have that kind of time, Angela. We're both very busy, you know."

"Brennan, focus. Listen. Hear the words. Process the words. You two are both massively stressed out, and I'm worried about you. Both of you. I know I _always_ tell you that you work too much and you need to slow down, but this time I _really_ think you two need a vacation. Rebecca's getting to both of you."

"Of course she hasn't," Brennan said, though that wasn't exactly true. Rebecca's diagnosis had caused an irrevocable directional shift, once that even she could recognize. She felt like she was still catching up. Rebecca had started chemo 16 days ago, and Parker had stayed at their house 13 nights since, as Rebecca was quite frequently nauseous, light sensitive and in pain. He tried not to show it, and Booth didn't press it, but Parker was demonstrating classic physiological signs of stress over the situation. It worried her. Despite his promise not to meddle, Booth spent copious amounts of time on the periphery, mostly through researching treatment and local specialists and dropping off food. Brennan finally caved and started doing some research of her own to reassure him, which had helped but barely.

Brennan was still not sure how she was supposed to act, and couldn't ask Booth because his way seemed so intrusive, arrogant, and domineering. She had no reasonable obligation to help Rebecca, nor were they close enough for her to feel _compelled_ to help, and she knew that she would not appreciate Rebecca's help should she fall ill. Rebecca had two sisters, and a husband, and several friends, all of whom could better help her emotionally and physically.

Booth, however, treated Brennan's reluctance as ambivalence and had responded with distance, throwing himself into work and the kids and insisting he was fine. She _knew_ what was upsetting him, but didn't know how to reconcile her views on how to handle the situation with being supportive for him, and she didn't want to completely acquiesce to his methods. It felt like an impasse. They fought more, bickering and biting at each other — nothing huge, just enough to irritate each other. She never felt like she was doing anything right anymore, that no matter what she did, Booth wouldn't like it, but wouldn't say anything.

She could no longer go to Guatemala to think things out, but she could go to the lab, and she often disappeared there for four or five hours once Sophia and Parker were asleep. She was able to do more academic work than she had done in years. When she'd come home, Booth would be sleeping on the couch, much to her displeasure. He needed to take better care of his back. She wanted to help him, get him to talk to her — he usually wasn't so reticent — but she just didn't know how. He just wouldn't engage in conversation. This was not her strong suit, and she never understood how Angela couldn't understand that. It was just … It wasn't as if she _liked _not getting these things.

"Neither of us is ill. It's unreasonable to assume an effect."

"I'm not _assuming_ anything. Booth is angry and worried all the time and bullying his way into situations where he doesn't belong so he feels like he's doing something. And you're retreating and repressing because you're worried about not handling things tactfully, even though he probably needs you to assert yourself. You're not talking to one another."

"We talk all the time," she said, waving her cell phone in front of Angela, as if that signified something.

"Yeah, about schedules and stuff. When was the last time you laughed? You two _always_ make each other laugh, even when it makes no sense to anyone else. You're not _talking_ talking, and the two of you need to do that so you don't slip."

"Slip?" she asked, picturing the two of them falling on a wet floor.

"Revert, whatever. You'll try to push him away to prove that nothing is forever, and he tells you you're out of your league and he knows right to push you away. You're close to that point. You guys are just _fraught_ with tension right now, and not the hot kind. Seriously. Rent a place in the Appalachians and forget the world exists. Sweat it out."

"Angela, you spent _years_ telling me I ran away too much, that I quantify everything too much. Now that I'm _here_, now that I have to be here, acknowledging that there's something very emotional happening, with a daughter and a stepson and a _museum_ and a book, you think I should just turn off my cell phone for a weekend? And that I can convince _Booth_, of all people, to do the same, that everything will still be okay on Monday?"

Angela grinned. "Exactly. Because it will be. I'm not talking you going to Guatemala for six weeks, either. I'm talking you and Booth and a bed. We'll take Parker and Sophia and the dog and you two can just rent a place for two nights."

"That would be unfair to Parker. He splits his time between two houses already." She sighed, knowing that she would get nowhere with Angela. "How are Joe and Talia?"

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly, understanding Brennan's desire to change the subject. "Joe ran into a table yesterday, but he didn't need stitches, thank God. Talia's started doing this weird thing where she lifts her dresses over her head in public and starts dancing around headless in her underpants. Oooh, we've picked our names for the new girls — Scarlet Joy and Lola Tatiana."

"Joy?" Brennan asked.

Angela smiled slightly. "Yeah. We wanted to get a little bit of you into the name, but Temperance isn't exactly gonna work for one of my kids."

She sat back. Smiled a little. "Thank you, Angela."

Lunch was the usual after that — gossip, how Angela's paintings were selling, children's antics and, as had very lately become usual, debates about schools. Georgetown Day vs. Sidwell. Maret vs. National Presbyterian. Angela was rapidly honing in on Sidwell. It _was_ Jack's alma mater, but an unusually traditional choice nonetheless. She just wanted the best. It represented the best.

As they were leaving Kramerbooks (and after she firmly refused Angela's pleas for a Red Velvet pit stop), she remembered something. She and Booth had been planning on taking the children to Rome for Christmas this year — they were planning on going from December 23rd through the 2nd. They'd cleared it with Rebecca months ago and had traded a spring break and a Thanksgiving for it. She was supposed to book tickets that week. Instead of complaining about this to Angela, though, she just kissed the artist on the cheek before heading back to a long afternoon at the museum. Shawna dropped Sophia off at five, and she played quietly until it was time to pick up Parker from Rebecca's, drop off some groceries with Rebecca, and head home.

"How was your mom today?" she asked, when she noticed Parker being quiet.

He shrugged. "Today was her last chemo for the week, so tomorrow she'll be better. She mostly slept today. The doctors say that when she rests Thursday and Friday she'll be OK on Saturdays and Sundays."

"Oh, she should, she should be able to go to your match on Friday then."

"Yeah, she wants to come," he said, smiling. "Are you coming?"

"I hope to," she said.

"I can't believe there's only two weeks of soccer left and then basketball and hockey. Man, I love hockey." Parker was quite good, practiced three evenings a week in season and his elite team played all around Maryland, Delaware, and Virginia already.

"You're just like your dad that way, yes," she confirmed.

"Course I am," he grinned. "D'you think Sophie will like it this much?"

"If you and your father have anything to do with it I think she has very little choice in that matter."

"Are you gonna let her play? Not many girls play."

"If she wants to I don't see why not. However, physiologically it's not a sport to which her body will take to easily so we'll see how enjoyable she finds it to be when played competitively."

"Did you do sports, Bones?"

"Nothing organized, just running, yoga, and martial arts. When I was in school I was mainly involved in artistic extracurriculars, like choir."

"You should've played hockey, Bones, it's the best. Is Dad home yet?" he asked as they pulled up to the house.

"I doubt it; between the investigation into that plane bombing last year and the new privacy laws he's on the Hill testifying all week, so I believe he was staying late with a few lawyers." Booth _hated_ testifying almost as much as he hated press conferences; he would be in an _extremely_ bad mood.

"Can we go to Good Stuff, then?" Parker's favorite eatery was all the way across the city, at 3rd and Pennsylvania SE, and Booth disapproved of it because he could get a burger, fries, and a shake for far cheaper almost anywhere else in the city. It had been close to her old apartment, the Capitol Hill South one she'd had for years before they bought the Georgetown house together, and she used to take Parker there on weekends before she could figure out other things to do with him.

"Way too far," she said, though she could have killed for one of their S'more milkshakes right then. "Besides, it's Wednesday. Your dad's going to pick up some Chinese."

Twenty minutes after they got home, Booth tromped through the door, two greasy bags in hand. He looked tense. "Happy Wednesday," he said, leaning over to kiss her.

Oh God. Their anniversary was that weekend.

She was quiet through dinner, but so was Booth, until Parker's chatter nervously died out and he felt obligated to pick up the slack.

"You OK, Bones?" Booth asked as they cleared the dishes. "You've been kind of quiet."

She considered telling him what Angela said, and considered retorting _so have you, Seeley, _but instead settled for, "This weekend is our wedding anniversary. It hadn't occurred to me before today." Well, that was a bit harsh. She'd ordered his gift and picked it up months ago, and she had even enlisted Angela's help on something for both of them. She'd forgotten every date over the last several weeks.

"No biggie, Bones, it's been hectic around here lately." She saw the surprise register on his face, though.

"You didn't forget, though." She was a little upset; _of course_ he would remember and _of course_ he would assume she would forget. She wanted to do this correctly, though. Temperance Brennan was good at everything, and that meant she wanted to be good at being married.

"Bones, we talked about this. I'll remember the big dates; you remember when the electric bill is due. Partners." He grinned and passed a plate to her.

She saw an opportunity. "I think we should go away."

"Like, a weekend thing?" he asked. They'd done the weekend thing once or twice, early on in the relationship, but it wasn't really _them_. Typically, it lacked any purpose, beyond locking themselves in a room and having sex. And previously, they'd never needed to schedule in an active sex life — even after Sophia's birth they managed to maintain a rigorous and fulfilling sexual relationship — so the weekend-away thing lacked a specific objective unattainable at home. And she missed him.

"Yes. Angela always says we need a vacation; I'm sure she can watch Sophia. Parker can stay with Rebecca and Brent." His jaw tightened imperceptibly, and she added, "Or with Angela and Hodgins."

"I'm not sure it's the best thing for Parker. What if something happens to Becca and Parker's there?" Last weekend, when Rebecca simply hadn't had energy, Sarah had brought Parker over because she didn't want to deal with him.

"Booth, she's in chemo, and the weekends are supposed to be her best days. They'll have more time together, and normality — both of which qualify as your 'good' for Parker thing." When he didn't say anything, she continued, "I think Rebecca and Parker will be fine." She gave him what Angela referred to as a Look.

He looked back at her suspiciously. "I get it," he said, grinning a little. "You're doing that thing you think I do to you. Where one person suggests something and says it's a favor for her but she's really doing it to make the other person feel better."

She cocked her head. Mostly because she didn't know why she was suggesting it, so she went with the answer she knew she was supposed to give. "No, I actually would like to go off with my _husband_ to celebrate our first anniversary, because I recognize that he considers it significant, and I really _do_ think that leaving my stepson in the care of his mother, who has cared for him for the last 11 years, is a good idea."

He grinned and stepped a little closer to her. "I was just going to surprise you with dinner and dancing on Saturday. I didn't want to do something huge if you didn't want to," he said, kissing her lightly, his mood improving. "But I think we could do a whole weekend. Where do you want to go?"

"I can look into it tomorrow," she suggested, trading kisses with him, pressing her body under his.

"No, you know what? You suggested it; I'll book. I still want something to be a surprise." He finally committed to a real kiss.

Rebecca was fine with it, though she did take down Angela's cell phone number. Angela was ecstatic. Booth seemed uncertain when they dropped Parker off, but eventually relaxed a bit. He hummed and tapped his fingers to an energetic beat against the steering wheel as they left Hodgins' home off Dupont (Angela had insisted upon a house with only one building and in the city when they wed). She felt comfortable enough to reach over, slip her hand across his neck, gently smoothing out the tension he constantly seemed to carry in his shoulders.

"Can I have a clue where we're going?"

"Nope. Surprise. Look it up in your big ole' dictionary."

She could have told him that she knew the highways around D.C. and they were clearly heading up to the Eastern Shore of Maryland, but this was the most relaxed and at ease she'd seen him since Rebecca's diagnosis. Angela was right — a large part of their relationship depended on physical proximity, which had been lacking for the past several days. Wrecking his surprise wouldn't be wise, so she didn't say anything and instead started talking about her brother's upcoming weekend in D.C. — next week — and what they could possibly do. When the crossed the Bay, she said, "My parents brought me here once. Well, not to this exact location. Obviously."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes. The year I was 10. It was my first time out East. We stopped for a few days on the beach and my father and I spent most classifying species out of a particular tide pool. I found a dead starfish and they let me take it home, even though it was against the law." She'd had that starfish until she'd moved out, and then she'd lost it.

"We used to get a place on the Shore for three weeks every summer," Booth said. She was surprised; he rarely spoke of his childhood pre-Hank, though she'd determined that it had been not entirely awful. "The whole neighborhood'd go — everyone would get rentals in Seaside Heights and the dads would drive down on weekends. We'd wakeboard and get sick off taffy and skateboard on the boardwalks."

They traded stories about family vacations and discussed places to take the children for the rest of the trip — Italy would be next Christmas now; Brennan wanted to take Parker to Egypt before he got too cool for vacations; and for some reason she thought Sophia would enjoy Prague very much, one day; Booth wanted to go to Hawaii or Costa Rica for a little "R&R" soon.

They entered a small town, St. Michael's, that Brennan had heard of but never visited, wended down idyllic streets until turning down a gravel road. A short while later, a sign greeted them, welcoming them to the Inn at Perry Cabin. She finally saw a large, old white house with several wings and additions. Marshland and then the bay stretched backwards from the plantation-style home. They stepped out of the SUV, and a light, salty breeze hit her nose. It was twilight, the sky streaked with dusky pinks and blue-violets. It was stark, simple, and absolutely beautiful.

"This place is …" her voice trailed off as she started to take everything in.

"Gorgeous, right?" he said, coming around and sliding an arm around her waist before kissing her neck.

"Where'd you find it?"

"Asked around, a little Google — knew I wanted to take you to the ocean," he said.

She kissed him deeply, pulling him to her by his neck. "You know, if this is why everyone makes such a big deal about anniversaries — I'm beginning to see validity in their perspective."

"Temperance Brennan, are you tapping into your inner Hallmark card writer?" he teased.

"Of course not," she said. "What I'm trying to say is," her voice lowered and her expression turned serious. She wanted to tell him, somehow, that she was _here_ and wanted him to tell her what had been bugging him for weeks, to verbalize it succinctly so she could take it, process it, because she only could deal with things she knew. But she didn't quite know how to formulate the sentences the way Booth needed them. "I worry, sometimes, Seeley, that I don't convey the depth of my feelings or that fact that I do want to succeed in this marriage," she thought again about the past month, the distance because of their differing views on how to handle Rebecca. "I know that my actions, when they diverge from your own course, can make it appear that I'm not … _invested _or …_ supportive. _I know I don't behave typically of social custom most of the time —"

"Hey, hey, hey" he said, gripping her upper arms. "The second you start behaving _typically of social custom_ I'm sending you up for a full-body scan to see where the alien implanted the chip."

"Alien life forms would not be able to implant chips like they do in science fiction, you know," she said, unable to help herself. She knew he was kidding about things like that, but often felt compelled to say or do the "squinty thing" because it would make him smile. She wondered what that said about herself. Scratch that. She knew what that said about her, exactly what it said about her, and she hated it.

"See? That's what I mean," he said, kissing her forehead. "You _show me _you love me every day. And listen, hey? I know the past couple weeks have been rough, ok? I haven't been around as much this past month, I know. You've been … running out to the lab because of it. I should've said something … stopped you. And I'm sorry." His eyes were intensely sincere.

She pursed her lips. "No, but really, your actions are very understandable. I know you're very concerned about Parker and Rebecca and I get that, I do. I wish you didn't feel guilty — about any of it."

"I don't, really. _Really_," he added emphatically, at her skeptical look. He could feel guilty about everything. "Come on, let's get inside. Are you starving? I'm starving." He moved to grab the bags from the trunk.

"Wait!" she called. "Can't we — just have the staff do that?"

He grinned. "Why, Temperance?"

"Because I asked," she tried, smiling awkwardly.

He grinned. He was worse than Parker when he discovered there was possibly a surprise present. "Because you asked?"

"Yes — Booth, don't!" she said, stepping in front of him. His hands landed on her hips as she blocked his maneuvers. "Now I'm asking you to _respect_ my request." If he saw the shape of the package, the surprise would be largely ruined.

"Come on, what'd you hide in the car?"

"Seeley. It's our anniversary. People customarily give their spouses presents on that day — I presume you've got something up your jacket?"

"Well yeah — I was planning on giving it to you tomorrow. Do you want a hint? I'll trade you hints. Yours is pretty."

"No! Two hours, Booth! You're worse than Parker. Just let the staff bring it in." She cocked her head, leaned in, and kissed him. "Please?"

He grinned, shaking his head. "You're too much." He kissed her again.

They checked in and let the bellhop take everything upstairs as they headed out, hand in hand, to a late dinner. Dinner was good wine and conversation about anything — work mostly, interesting cases he'd seen; interesting bones she'd seen; his testimony on the Hill and the idiot Congressmen who opposed their plan; funding initiatives; conferences she'd been invited to; the book. They debated whether Daisy would go insane before the wedding (she said Daisy be rational and reasonable; he said she would go "Bridezilla") and whether Dylan would actually follow Jared to D.C., as she had insinuated. They laughed. Fed each other. Angela had been right; vacation on a beach was a fabulous idea.

Instead of walking back to the inn after dinner, he tugged her hand and led her along a boardwalk bordered by marsh grass and light-brown sand. "What if I told you I wanted to get back to the room _right now_?" she asked huskily as he pulled her along.

He gave her a look then, one that made her feel absolutely sexy and shiver in anticipation. "Oh, believe me, you're hardly falling asleep when we get back," he said, his voice low.

"Oh, really," she teased, slipping a cool palm underneath his button-down shirt. He swallowed visibly, making her laugh, and she leaned up and kissed him. "What exactly will I be doing?"

He stared at her with another hard, hungry look, before reaching into his jacket pocket and fishing out a small, square box. She was surprised — she knew to expect jewelry on an anniversary, but whenever Booth gave her jewelry (with the exception of the engagement and wedding rings) it was usually a necklace. But he often gave her necklaces, she realized; whenever he saw one that he thought suited her. Perhaps for an anniversary he had decided on something more special. Earrings maybe? She wore those frequently as well.

She delicately took the jewel box, cracking it open using her thumb. Nestled on the crushed velvet was a tiny gold ring. Two hands held a heart topped with a crown. "A Claddagh ring," she said, recognizing the traditional Irish ring.

"Yeah," he said, looking down at it. "I've told you about my Irish grandmother, right?"

"Of course. Maeve Halloran Booth." Booth always referred to Hank's wife as his Irish grandmother, though she, like Hank, had been half-Italian. She'd passed away when he was very young — heart attack.

"My grandfather proposed to her about a month after meeting her, so needless to say they didn't know each other very well. He got her a traditional ring. After they married, he learned that she'd always wanted a Claddagh ring when she was a girl, so he got her one for their first anniversary. She wore it on her index finger because she already had her wedding ring. When I told my grandfather we were getting married, he gave me the ring to give to you on our first anniversary." She held out her left hand mutely, and he slid the ring onto her finger, crown toward her hand, symbolizing that her heart was taken forever. "You know what they mean right?"

"It's a faith ring," she said. "Traditionally it's associated the saying _I give you my heart and crown it with love. _It's a symbol of love, friendship and loyalty."

"Pretty fitting for us, right," he grinned. She put her hands on his cheeks and kissed him soundly. "I just wanted you to know … that you're pretty amazing, and I don't say that enough. And I have faith in us. In you."

She stared at him for a second. It was really quite alarming, how much he could affect her. "I love my ring, Seeley," she said.

They meandered back to the hotel room, undressed each other slowly in the dark, drinking each other in, _making love_. Usually, their sexual encounters were filled with sounds — talking, laughter, moaning — but it was silent this time, breathy gasps and moans and sometimes a ragged _oh god yes_, but otherwise nothing. He approached the session with an unusual focus, practically studying her before every swipe of his tongue, ghosting his fingers down her ribs and laving her with a determination she hadn't seen before. It was satisfying, of course — she doubted a go-round with Booth could be unsatisfying — but it felt strangely incomplete. This was especially unusual considering the fact that it had been almost a week since they had been together.

"That was …" she said, as they lay there afterwards.

"Swear to God, Temperance, you better say it blew your mind,' he murmured, laying kisses down her sternum and to her belly button.

"I think I showed how receptive I was," she said, hips bucking slightly as his fingers and mouth began to play with her again, tweaking and kissing and blowing in all the right places. 'But are you sure … is everything OK?"

"Second worst thing you could say to a guy," he groaned.

"What's the worst?" she asked, temporarily distracted.

"That you were faking it," he said.

"I was _not_ doing that," she said adamantly, "but you're unnaturally quiet. And if you want to discuss things … that's OK. We could talk. That usually helps." She was proud of herself for getting the words out before moaning.

He manipulated his fingers again, sinking them into her and making her groan, and moved back up her body. Kissing her on the lips before resting his forehead against hers, he asked, "Do you really want to talk right now? I have a few better ideas about what we can do with our mouths."

She decided he was right. After he drifted off, though, she wondered.

Brennan was still blessed-out (as Angela would put it) when she awoke to Booth kissing patterns into her stomach again.

"You have to let me out of this bed at some point," she finally managed to say, "or else I can't give you your present."

"I'm more than happy with this arrangement," he said, with a low laugh.

She was by this point fairly certain he was using sex as an avoidance technique, which was irritating and distracting and very, very pleasurable. Damnable man. She'd check his behavior again once they finally got out of bed. For now, she rolled on top of him, her smile growing with his.

She awoke again when he began to stir. Suddenly wide awake and feeling daring, she slipped the complementary silk robe on and knotted it before digging into their luggage, abandoned the evening before. She found the first package, nestled in her clothing, easily. The second was more difficult. Finally finding what she was looking for behind a duffel, she pulled it up triumphantly and returned to bed, trepidation propelling her forward.

Noticing her full hands, he said, "_Two_, Bones? I know you're an overachiever but that's just playing dirty."

"Shut up," she said, plopping down and nestling into his shoulder. "I had a hard time deciding. One of them's handmade, by Angela, so it doesn't count."

"Of course it counts, if you know what it is first," he said, reaching for the flatter package.

"No, this one first," she said, pushing the cube forward. As he began to tear the wrapping off, she said, "Traditionally, paper is considered the appropriate gift for a first anniversary. However, lately it's also become acceptable for clocks or watches to be given, so …" she stopped as he pulled out the white-gold Rolex. "I … I thought you needed a good watch. Nothing ostentatious, of course, but you haven't had one since the strap broke on your last one, which was highly unreliable anyways and … it's engraved." She knew he had hang-ons with money issues.

He flipped it over. _Everything happens eventually_. It had become a bit of a mantra for them. _October 3__rd_. "It's …" he started, trying to form words. "Whoa, Bones."

"You like it?" she asked hopefully. She really wanted him to like her gift.

"Yeah. It's a great watch," he finally said, swallowing. He looped it around his wrist and kissed her. "Everything happens eventually, huh?"

"You said it, not me," she murmured against his lips, pulling him against her.

After a few minutes of kissing, he asked, against her teeth, while still kissing her and stroking the underside of her breast with his thumb. "But what about the other present?"

She groaned, pulled away, and handed it to him. "The traditional gift is paper, as I said. I couldn't think of anything creative to do with that, so I consulted with Angela."

He ripped the wrapping down the present, revealing a burnished gold frame. Angela's gift was truly quite extraordinary: She'd taken photos — from the wedding, of course, but from other, more ordinary days as well, from after their relationship started and before — of the two of them, and copied them into a gorgeous, sketch-and-watercolor papier-mâché collage. Then, on top of that, she'd copied their vows on handmade paper that was just slightly transparent, so one could see both the pictures beneath and the strong black ink above them. It was truly art.

"This is something, isn't it?" he said, tracing a sketch.

"She's really quite phenomenally talented," she said. "I always forgot that when she was working at the Jeffersonian."

"We can put it in the living room, above the fireplace, whaddaya think?" he asked.

"I think that would be a very nice location," she murmured against his throat.

The rest of the weekend was similarly a sanctuary from the world; Booth was _there_ and with her. He managed to avoid all but two phone calls from work, but she supposed that was fair because she worked on the outline for the next book. Other than that, they were content just to be lazy, and the shadows of the past months weren't cast over them. She finally, finally felt like she was doing something _right_ again, in this amorphous, socially constructed role as a "wife."

And then, of course, she had to ruin it.

Really, one could logically blame Angela or Sweets. They were the ones who liked talking so much, who urged _communication_ even though she and Booth really weren't communication people. Viewed empirically, neither of them had _ever_ been a "communication" person, so her actions, in fact, flew in the face of logic.

After checking out, and as they were heading to the car, Booth entwined his hand in hers and started kissing her knuckles. "I have missed this," he admitted, squeezing her fingers gently.

"Me, too," she said. "I've gotten used to our lives being so dull. Are you ready to talk?"

"Talk about what?" he asked. Somehow, his fingers went cold. How was that scientifically possible? "And what do you mean, _boring_?"

"I didn't say boring, I said dull," she said. "Which they have been — no murders, you know. Objectively, your elevation in the FBI bureaucracy and my decision to leave the field made our lives less interesting. And, I … meant about the Rebecca situation. An honest discussion would be beneficial, I think. To both of us."

He didn't seem to hear her, though. "I took the promotions _for you_," he said. "For us. For _our_ family. It's not like all this paperwork bull _appeals_ to me."

"Booth, I know that. You take on far too much personal responsibility to ever feel truly comfortable in this position but your sense of obligation drove you to." She was confused. Was he deflecting again?

"Yeah, well, now you sound like Sweets," he snapped.

"Booth, stop saying that every time I make a valid observation. Sweets peddles in predictive guesswork based on a series of physiological tells he can read. What I've noticed is based in fact."

"Really, Bones? What have you noticed?" His voice was contemptuous, and it made her quite angry.

"What I've _noticed_," she snapped, "is that you try to belittle my ability to read you when you don't want to talk about your dismissive and patronizing attitude. What I've _noticed_ is that you're constantly exhibiting physiological signs of stress and tension but won't talk to me about their cause, even though I've _noticed_ that, when you do, it _helps _you. And what I've _noticed_ is that in modern monogamous relationships, that's what people do. That's what we do. You force me to talk and talk and talk, about my feelings, and my _father_, and every body else, except that, God forbid, when you decide something, or you believe something, that I disagree with, it's OK to just tell me that everything's _fine_ because you think I won't notice. And that I won't care. And that I'm too emotionally stunted to try and _fix_ things. So you're going to _tell me_ what's … bugging you, so we can _fix it_ and go home to our children and our _very_ busy schedules!"

He laughed, a low, mean chuckle. "You think you've got it all figured out, don't you? You notice one or two things, you add it to that file I know you have in your head of everything that I say and that I do, and you think you _know_ things, you think you can just fix them. Like they're a bone to set or a puzzle to solve. You know what's wrong, Bones? It's that I do _everything_ here, for you, and you're still too scared, after eight years of knowing me, after three years together, after _having the most beautiful baby girl in the world_, that you still can't trust me. That you still don't know which things to just _go_ with me on. When you don't need to be your stubborn pain-in-the-ass self and fight me because you think you're right. Because you _always_ think you're right."

"What are you _talking_ about?" She yanked her sunglasses off and folded her arms. "I _am_ right, Booth. You're upset, over Rebecca, and you're not talking about it, because you're upset and you don't like people to know when you're upset, or maybe not in control, and you don't like not being in charge of something. If anything, you're mad because your God, the one you put so much faith in, the one in whose name you made me baptize our daughter, because I have trust in you and you have faith in this God figurehead, is letting something bad happen to someone good. And you can't stop it and now you're just angry."

"See? You've got it all wrong. I'm _talking _about the fact that I _gave up_ my job so that I wouldn't get shot, so that I wouldn't leave you, so you would feel safe in this relationship. I'm enrolling my kids in some pansy-ass private school, because you want to. I'm doing the political thing and being the charming husband so you don't have to work so hard running the museum. And what do I get? _No_ support about Rebecca. For God's sakes, Bones, even _Parker_ notices. Even he thinks you're being cold, by not going to these meetings and learning about these procedures and helping her out."

"You think _I_ didn't give anything up? You don't think I'm not scared when I wake up? Every morning, Booth. I couldn't _do_ this whole thing… the museum, and the being married, and the being a mother, without you. I don't know what I would do if I lost you. And that scares me, every single day. That i'm so _dependent_ on you. I HATE that, Booth, I HATE it." Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she was yelling. "I would be so, so much happier if I could just run away to Guatemala. If I could just go to limbo for hours. If having just work fulfilled me again. I'd feel more secure out in the world, honestly. But I stay. Because I love you and that means something more than me feeling safe. I gave up my _independence_ for you, for this marriage, for being partners forever and whatever the hell else you convinced me about a year ago. I gave all that up, for you, and it was irrational and I don't know why."

"Well, jeez, Bones, I suppose I should just be happy with that. That I'm tying you down, making you unhappy because I love you. And love should be enough, right? The support that _I _need for all of this, noooooo, that doesn't matter, because Temperance Brennan loves me."

"You _told_ me," she hissed, poking him hard in the chest. "You said. Love is enough. Love conquers all. I remember. I remember everything."

"I said love is enough _to get married_. That's the wedding. The party for one day. This, Bones? This is every day, for the rest of your life. And sometimes marriage means doing something that you don't agree with. Losing the battle to win the war. It means putting your partner's needs and wants first. It means having faith that even if you don't know why the other guy is doing something, you do it anyways. Because it will make him happy. Even if you can't see the end of the road you do it because you have faith you'll get there together."

"You have _exactly_ the same amount of experience with marriage as I do," she yelled back. "And to me? Marriage is about being _honest_ with each other. Honesty is the only way you can trust the other person to be there, every day, for the rest of your life. It's not about your blind faith, it's about _trust_ and _honesty. _And honestly? I think you're demeaning Rebecca's abilities as a parent and her capabilities as a person by hovering all the time. And, honestly? As a mother, if there was another woman, just _waiting_, right there, for Sophia, as I was dying, I would not want to see that woman. Ever. I would not want her at my doctor's appointments, I would not want her there when I was getting bad news. And Rebecca is getting bad news every day. She's not getting better. The chemotherapy is _destroying_ her body and there's little chance it will work completely. So yes, you're correct. I'm not going to go to her appointments. I'm more than happy to explain that to Parker, if you want. But I think you should talk about it too. Because I _know_ you, Booth, and you wouldn't be _you_ if you weren't bothered and upset."

"Like _hell_ you will talk to Parker about the possibility of Becca dying, OK? Like hell, Bones."

"Fine," she said. She was suddenly exhausted. "Now, I'm going to go call a cab back to D.C. and then go to the lab."

"Bones, are you insane? It's hours. That cab will cost more than a goddamn plane ticket. Just get in the damn car, OK?"

He did have a point; usually, she didn't care about money but that would be excessive. "Fine," she said tiredly. "But I'm not talking to you anymore, OK? And when we get back, I think it would be wise if I took Sophia and we went to Atlanta a day early. We'll stay with Angela and Hodgins after that."

He looked alarmed. "Bones, it's just a fight, OK? People, they yell sometimes. Hell, especially people like us."

"_This was not_ just yelling, Booth. This was you attacking my abilities as a mother and a wife because you won't talk about your feelings for Rebecca."

"I don't _have_ feelings for Rebecca. I have feelings for you."

"You're doing it again!" She yelled. "You change the subject. I've noticed these things. You do that and expect me to be OK with it, and I'm not, so I think the rational step is for me to go to Atlanta."

"Bones — look, fine, you know what? I'll talk to Sweets. First thing in the morning. Come on, babe, don't' be stupid about this whole thing."

"No! You're married to _me_, you're supposed to be able to talk to _me," _she said. She opened the car door and swung in. "And until you're ready, I don't see any point in continuing this conversation."

He just shook his head, clearly so angry he was having trouble containing it all. But she didn't care. Not right now. She was so tired of his silence, of his anger over his job, over Rebecca, over this whole thing. She loved Booth, she still wanted to be married to him, and she didn't want to see him for a week. She had not been aware that could happen.

"Jesus Christ," he shook his head before climbing into the car. "Sometimes, it's just … wow, Bones. Just wow. Really, just wow."

"None of those were complete sentences, and I told you. I don't want to talk to you right now."

"More than fine with me," he huffed under his breath. He suddenly looked as tired as she felt.

The ride was silent, except for her calling and bumping her flight up. After they got home, she packed her things and Sophia's things, not speaking until they were on the road and she called Shawna, the nanny, to tell her she had Monday and Tuesday off. They were in Atlanta that evening. Booth did not try and stop them.


	8. Love is Difficult

Thanks for all the reviews! That and a free weekend got this update up quickly. This chapter involves a lot of talking. A lot a lot of talking, because Booth's kind of stressed out and _has_ to finally talk, and not wanting to talk actually begets a lot of talking. But we're moving toward some B/B resolution and more developments on the Becca front. Things will … well, not get lighter, but more balanced. I promise. Title of chapter from very famous, very awesome Rilke passage.

A note: I changed the name of the dog from Brady to Asta. Those who get the reference get extra points!

* * *

Booth slammed the SUV door behind him and stalked to the edge of the soccer field, watching Parker run circles around the rest of the kids. Bones had left barely 20 minutes ago for Atlanta, taking Sophia with her, and he was still seething. Honestly, where, exactly, did she get off saying what she had said? It was better that she'd gone, really. He hadn't felt the urge to yell at her until he went hoarse for years, but that had about done it. He'd never seen her so purposefully rude and insensitive toward him.

It had been, in the days leading up to the getaway, an awful two weeks. Becca was getting her ass kicked by the chemotherapy. Not only was she sick all the time as the chemicals attacked the cancer, but he'd been along to enough of the doctors' appointments with her and Brent to know that they weren't see the _results_ they needed to see to get her out of the woods. If asked, point-blank, the doctors evaded answers on how many months she had left. Weeks, possibly. They hadn't told Parker.

He'd had to have a little talk with Brent about being a man and handling his responsibilities and obligations, as the typically solid guy was flaking out, flaked out by the cancer and working an extra 15 hours a week. Sarah, Bec's particularly atrocious sister, had actually dragged Parker across northwest Washington to their house the weekend because she got sick of him. Parker was about to have a meltdown; he never looked rested in the mornings and the soccer coach had e-mailed Booth to tell him that Parker was being unusually aggressive on the field and he'd heard about Rebecca and wondered if the two were maybe related. Work had been a mess, too; even though he had briefly been Assistant Director of Major Crimes after Hacker's departure it still awed him sometimes how much work he had as DDCI. This week he'd commissioned a task force to look into predatory lending, which had required a press conference and would require plenty of appointments on the Hill; he'd testified in front of Judiciary because of the new DNA database project; a new ethics policy had gone into place; three high-profile cases, one about a serial killer and two involving terrorism, had begun. He'd been working 14 hours and bringing work home.

And at home Bones had started doing her traditional retreat into herself before fleeing, and he just didn't have the energy to cajole her anymore. She was always in the lab, or working in her office on the novel (which he knew was finished; she was making up some excuse about getting a jump on the next one, which she never did until the insanity of a press tour died down), and wouldn't even tell him if a specialist specialized in the right stuff. Becca was just being bounced around from doc to doc, and was stupidly just _going_ with it, and Bones wouldn't even tell Becca if she was seeing a good doctor, even though she knew the information. She barely engaged with Becca at all, and the interactions between the two had become quite stilted. Even Parker had said that Becca seemed sadder every time Bones picked her up, and Bones always seemed awkward around Becca.

In short, Booth had barely seen his kids, he'd barely touched his wife, the director and the Attorney General were perpetually on his ass, and his goddamn back was hurting from trying to stay up late enough to talk to Bones after she got back from the lab, and falling asleep on the couch. His back was chronically bent into shapes no human back should actually sustain and it made him irritable. It made him irritable, because it meant that she was not present.

And God, he needed Bones to be present. He needed her more than he had ever or would ever need another person, he needed her like oxygen, like food, like all that clichéd poetic crap that was just too dumb to say out loud. He needed Bones so badly that it scared him, and it scared him even more to tell her how much he needed her, because he knew that she would get even more scared than he was. But he needed her like that every day.

Right now he needed her to step it up, quite frankly. He _needed_ her to be in certain places and to do certain things, and he needed her to pick up on those instinctively, because he couldn't say them. The fact that she couldn't _get_ that, the fact that she hadn't picked up on it, even though he _knew_ that she could, it irritated him. She was doing it on purpose, he _knew_ that too. He was worried about Becca and Parker, and he needed her to mitigate that worry, take his mind off things and reassure his mind about other things so that he could go on functioning; care for her and Sophia as well and do his job. He needed her, desperately, to not argue with him, to not make decisions based on logic. Because logic said that Becca was going to die soon, and that would destroy Parker's world, which would kill him.

So yeah, when she tried pulling this shit where it was all _his _fault and not at _all_ hers, he got a little pissed. Especially when she was hypocritically using psychology. God forbid he even attempt to use that reasoning on her.

"Dad!" Parker said, running over once the coach dismissed them. He seemed to be in a good mood, and the coach nodded at Booth, indicating that practice had gone well. "How was the beach? Where's Bones?" Bones usually picked him up from soccer on Sundays to take him to Chinese.

"The beach was … cold," he said, grinning crookedly. "Bones, she decided to go to Atlanta a bit early, get some extra work done. She took Sophia, too, they'll be back in a few days. So I'm taking you to Chinese today, that cool? How's your mom?"

"She's good. She only threw up once this weekend, and we went on a picnic yesterday with Brent and Aunt Lisa because the weather was good and it was fun," he said, his brow furrowing. "She took Sophie with her for a _speech_? And she left today for a Tuesday speech? On Friday she said she would be home and wasn't leaving until Tuesday morning."

"Yeah, well, girls don't make sense," he said, clapping his hand over Parker's shoulder. "Do you shower before Chinese?"

"Nah, but Bones always goes over vocabulary with me. Can I call her on the way over?"

"She's on the plane, bub."

"Did you give her the ring?" Parker asked eagerly.

"Yep."

"What'd she say?"

"She liked it. Loved it, really." And she had.

"Dad?" Parker looked at him closely. "You and Bones didn't get into a fight or something, did you?" Goddamn, his kid was perceptive. Or maybe he'd become a worse liar.

"What? Why would you say that?"

Parker just sighed and shook his head. "Because you didn't answer my question, and you're all jumpy, and Bones isn't a normal girl and so she always makes sense." It really sucked that Parker was such a perceptive kid. Becca called it _sensitive_, but really, it was just freaky.

"Yeah, we got into an argument. It's fine, though, bub. It happens." Parker still looked really freaked out, though. Probably something to do with the Becca thing.

"Did you apologize?"

"We'll get there. She's in Atlanta. Or going there."

"You should apologize first," Parker said as they climbed into the car. "You should do it, Dad."

"Oh yeah? Why's that?"

"Well, Mom says a real man always apologizes first."

"Bones doesn't like being treated any differently because she's a woman. You know that."

"Bones wouldn't start the fight, so you should apologize. She says arguing is irrational, but she'll always fight back."

"We argue all the time. You hear us bickering."

"That's different. You should apologize first, Dad. Please? I promise it works."

"What do you mean? You mean, you promise it works with girls?"

"Well, yeah. Mom always likes it when I say I'm sorry first, even if I'm still a little mad."

"So no girlfriends yet, right?" Suddenly he was suspicious. Who knew with Parker these days?

"Dad," Parker deflected, rolling his eyes.

"Fine, fine. Don't answer. We can have a guys' night tonight: Football, hamburgers, watch some sports movies, burp, leave the dishes in the sink. How's that sound?"

Parker shrugged. "Yeah, sure. Can we watch _Space Balls_?"

"Course. Do you have any homework left?"

Parker pinned him with a Look. "Not really. Mom left the science for Bones to help me with."

Lord.

So when Parker was at Chinese and he knew Bones was safely on the plane, he called, expecting and receiving her voicemail.

"Uh, hey Bones," he said, wondering how to word this, explain what was going on for her. "Listen, I know that you're still angry with me, and I'm … I apologize for some of the things I said. They crossed a line. But, jeez, Bones. You know, you're the only person I'll ever care enough about to have that kind of knock-down drag-out fight with," he cleared his throat. "Anyways. I just wanted to let you know … that I'm not mad about the fight." That was true. He wasn't mad about the fight. "And also, Parker has some science homework tonight, so if you could give him a call maybe after Sophia goes to bed that would be great. If you call the home line, I'll make sure he picks it up. Anyways. Love you. And please, tell Sophia I love her too."

He ran a couple errands before picking up Parker from Chinese lessons, and when they got home, Park asked, "Is that Dr. Sweets' car in the street?"

Of course it was. Grinding his teeth, he said, "I guess he's just missed us. He probably let himself in."

As soon as the two Booth men entered the house, though, there was no way that Sweets had come alone. Whatever that was cooking smelled too good for Sweets to be there without — "Gordon-Gordon?" Booth called. "Sweets?"

"Deputy Director Booth! Master Parker! Ah yes, you guessed Dr. Sweets' little surprise," Gordon-Gordon's voice cooed from the kitchen.

"I'm here too," Hodgins said as they rounded into the kitchen. He was sitting on the counter nursing a beer. Booth shot him an irritated look and he climbed down.

"Great. You know, you're lucky Park noticed your car in the driveway," Booth said.

"Yeah, he'd probably have shot you otherwise," Parker said, tossing his gear on the floor.

"Now that would be a bit of poetic justice, wouldn't it," Gordon-Gordon said as Booth told him to pick his stuff up off the ground.

"Go take a shower, bub, you kind of stink," Booth added. After Parker trudged out of the room he turned to the three. "An intervention? Really?" He turned to Hodgins. "Angela put you up to this?"

"Actually, Dr. Brennan called me," Sweets piped up.

"What?" Booth asked incredulously.

"He's right," Gordon-Gordon said. "I was in town for business with Dr. Hodgins —"

"Business? You donating to the foundation?" Hodgins had started an educational foundation with Cantilever money shortly before Joe's birth and had slowly been expanding it to classrooms across the Northeast.

"No, no, no, I'm just a lowly, poor chef," Gordon-Gordon said. "A chef, however, who wants to open a restaurant just off Embassy Road."

"I'm thinking about investing in Dr. Wyatt's new place," Jack finally piped in. "He came down from New York today to cook a dinner for me, Ange, you, Daisy, Sweets, and Brennan. Until Brennan skipped town anyways."

"What Dr. Hodgins means to say is that we were planning on calling you and Brennan once you returned from your romantic anniversary getaway to invite you to a dinner party, but when Dr. Brennan called Dr. Sweets, we decided to change the plans, so to speak. Now, we're making a man's meal in your kitchen," Gordon-Gordon said.

"I'm trapped, aren't I?" Booth sighed. "You know, what's Bones talking to you for, anyways? She wouldn't let _me_ call you."

"Brennan's extremely angry with you, but her overriding emotion is concern. At this point, she's mad at you for not telling her what's wrong, but she'd rather you talk to someone than not bottling it up, and she's prepared to step aside as your confidant if it will help. It's her last resort," Sweets said.

Booth rubbed his hand across his face tiredly. "Okay, not really sure where to start. One, Sweets, it's cute that you're volunteering to help, but there's nothing here. Second, if there was anything, I _would_ talk to Bones. When we got married, it was because it solidified that we're partners in everything. We just had a fight. And Gordon-Gordon, I really hope you leave whatever the hell you're cooking, but Park and I were going to have a night in and I'd like to stick to that plan."

The three men exchanged glances. "So you believe that nothing in the last few months would have led you to become more stressed than usual? Nothing has happened that Brennan would possibly want to talk about? And, though you and Brennan profess to _bicker_ all the time, the fact that for the first time since you married, she's chosen to leave you for longer than strictly necessary doesn't concern you?" Sweets asked.

"Bones has … trust issues. You've all known that since like the second you met her. We're fine." If Sweets wasn't careful, Booth was about to whip out his gun and shoot the nearest ice-cream-truck clown.

"Deputy Director Booth, just for my clarification, what defines 'fine?'" Gordon-Gordon said. "Here, too, be the sous-chef."

"Dude, once Brennan's in, she's in. She doesn't flinch. At all. She might take a while to reach a decision, but once she's committed she's, like, 500 percent committed. And there is _nothing_ she is more committed to than you two being married, man. For God's sakes, she proposed. So there's no way Bren ran because she didn't trust you. You shrinks should know that already," Jack said, swigging his beer again.

"Look, there was no flinching, there was no running. There was a fight; she's more wrong than she will admit, I'm a little wrong, too. We pissed each other off. … You know, most people think it's pretty rude to just walk into some poor schmuck's house and start interrogating them."

"Now, now, now, I am not a _psychiatrist_, and am only here, purely out of coincidence, to cook a meal and catch up with a dear old friend," Gordon-Gordon said. "Chop this, will you? That's a dear." He slid some asparagus in front of Booth.

"Showered," Parker announced, walking into the kitchen in jeans, a grey Capitals T-shirt and a blue flannel shirt, his curls damp and matted down from his shower. "Whatcha making, Gordon-Gordon?" He slid onto a stool to observe.

"The main course, Parker, will be seared steaks with an essence of tarragon, dressed with white asparagus and mushrooms. There'll also be prosciutto-and-parmesan stuffed ravioli, a salad that I'm sure you'll find quite delicious, and flourless chocolate-walnut cake with cherries and vanilla sauce for dessert!"

Parker did not look nearly as enthusiastic as Gordon-Gordon about the meal, so Booth said, "Parks. It's steak, spaghetti, and chocolate cake. I think you'll live."

"Hey, Parker, want to do Wii Boxing?" Sweets asked.

"Sure. I'll kick your butt, though," Parker said, scrambling toward the rec room. Sweets and Jack followed. Great. Sweets he could still play like a cheap fiddle; he had never been able to do the same to Gordon-Gordon.

"So, Deputy Director Booth, how _is_ the estimable Temperance Brennan?"

"Pretty well. Busy with the museum, but she's really beginning to make some strides there. Visits are up compared to the last five years. Her classroom work and research is going well too — slower, but she's still doing it. She still gets more requests for speeches and appearances than she can handle and the scientists are winning more grants than last year too."

"So she's happy, I presume?"

"Well, for the most part, things are going pretty well. She and Parker get along great. She's just amazing with Sophia. She wants to go to a dig at some point but it's not a huge priority. The book's coming out in February or March. She's never been great with administration — I don't think either of us are — but it's always been advocacy in some way, giving people faces, letting their stories get told, finding them answers, and she's finding new ways to do that, big-picture, you know."

"But she does get time in the lab to do intellectual exploration? That has consistently been a high priority for her."

"She's been taking on a few extra projects, but her plate's kinda full with the kids and the museum. Priorities shift, you know. She used to do fieldwork 10 months out of the year. And then she was in D.C. 49 weeks out of the year four years later." _Because of him_, he crowed to himself. He had that. He and Bones had that.

"And how is Parker?" Gordon-Gordon asked, not looking up from the steaks he was carefully slicing.

He shrugged, working his jaw. "Busy with school and sports. He's pretty upset about Becca, understandably."

"Ah, yes, his mother. And you know this because he's said it to you?"

"I know this because he's my kid. I was there when he was born. I don't need him to tell me things," he said, realizing that his voice was a tad defensive.

"He really is a very bright boy. And has handled events with remarkable ease over the last few years. What's he going through now?"

"He's … scared. It's an uncertain time, and he doesn't like seeing his mother so sick. He doesn't want to lose her but he's thinking that he might. He's scared, so I'm here if he needs to talk and he knows that I love him, his mother loves him, Bones and Brent love him. I told him if he needed anything, anything at all, if he wanted to say or ask anything, that he could."

"But he hasn't yet."

"No, not really."

"But he usually talks to you?"

"I mean, he's an 11-year-old. He wouldn't give me a straight answer today on whether he had a girlfriend, but we talk."

"Why do you think that is? It doesn't strike you as unusual that a young man who is usually quite talkative and engaging has become quite reticent?"

"Look, Doc, his mom's sick. If he doesn't want to talk about it, I respect that. I watch him. If I think he _really_ needs to talk, I'll help him talk. But right now his mom's sick and he's just kind of focusing on that."

"How is Rebecca doing?" He sometimes hated this about Gordon-Gordon, the feigned lightness and the casual conversation. He knew — they both knew — how carefully ordered this line of questioning was.

He looked behind him before answering. The door was thankfully still shut. "She's … not good. It started in her ovaries, right, but it spread. A lot. Uterus and lungs and liver and it's disrupting a lot of her normal functions. A lot of the levels are out of control," he sighed and took a breath. Maintained control. "I'm not sure exactly what's happening and Bones … well, I've been wanting her to come along to these meetings that we have every few weeks, where the doctors get me and Becca's sisters up to speed, and she just won't. I'd love for her to talk to the doctors because she understands their medical babble so much better, but she thinks that Becca would hate her for it and won't."

"She thinks Rebecca will hate her?"

"During our fight, Doc. She said … that if it were her, if she thought she might be dying, she wouldn't want to see the person who will raise her kid. And I don't think that's true at all. When … When Becca and I both got married, we settled the custody question. Wrote up wills. The most either of us could demand was half a week, split holidays and breaks; if something happened to either of us, the remaining parent would get Parker and the stepparent could get visitation rights. It's good. It's fair. Becca knows what might happen, she doesn't think Bones will kidnap Park. I think she'll be reassured, if she knows Bones better. Bones'll come around to it, once she calms down a bit."

"Have you asked her?"

"What? No. Jeez, doc, you know that I know this stuff. This is my kid, my wife, my ex. I know them. What's more, I _know_ I know them. It's tough right now. And it's tough to think about what happens to Becca. But we'll get through this."

"Yes, yes, I know. You're excellent at your life."

Booth set the knife down gently. "What does that mean, exactly? And you know I don't like it when you use free food as an in for free therapy. And really? I had a fight. With my wife. It'll happen a couple times. We'll cool off, apologize, get through it. We've had fights before. We've had _big_ fights before, both before we got together and after. _I'm _fine." He tightened his jaw, then tried to loosen it.

Gordon-Gordon set down his knife, too. "Do you remember what the first thing I learned about you was?"

"That I shot a clown?"

"See now, with that answer, I must accuse you of emulating Dr. Brennan and being too literal. You, Deputy Director Booth, are very much in control of every situation. Remember? You're good at things. It's how you became such a respected agent. It's how you kept Dr. Brennan protected and feeling protected. It's how you keep your family safe. You act easy-going and self-effacing, but in reality, you keep your head down and your eyes open in every situation. And the silly thing is, by this point, you _know_ these things. In fact, your relationship with control is the essence of each and every one of our conversations."

"Look, I don't try and control Bones," he laughed. "Hell, there's no way _anyone_ can control Bones."

"Not Dr. Brennan, per se, but the relationship," he hesitated. "Booth, you're a very good father. You're a very good husband. You're a very good deputy director of the FBI. And you have matured immensely — your relationship with Dr. Brennan is really quite a remarkable partnership, your success in a high-profile leadership role at the FBI shows that you have reconciled your conflicted feelings about joining a homogenous organization, your assumption of that role in the first place shows that you have grown more confident in your abilities, an insecurity which you carefully hid for years. You step up and you take credit for things that go well. You did not do that before your relationship with Dr. Brennan became intimate."

"And here comes the but," Booth muttered.

"But you forget that so many of those things are not relationships to be managed but relationships to be lived. When you can't control the other person, and your natural reaction is to control yourself so as to not appear vulnerable in the situation."

"Look, _she_ was the one who flew off to Atlanta here," he knew it was weak, but Gordon-Gordon was gaining momentum, in that happy place of his where he was about to make a triumphant psychological revelation.

"Now, see, was she really mad? Or was she just perhaps exhausted and concerned, as Sweets interpreted?"

"I wouldn't say she was _just_ mad, but she definitely was pretty mad. Bones … you don't think she would be, but she's one of the most passionate women out there."

"Without a doubt she is," Gordon-Gordon said. He then switched tactics. "One of the most revealing and accurate pieces of advice you've ever given Dr. Brennan is the fact that to get people to share something, you have to share a bit of yourself. That was your second case, I believe."

"How do you even know that story?"

"Dr. Brennan has an extremely accurate memory and a fondness for stories involving you. The point is, though, if you live by that advice, how can you expect her to _know_ that you want these things, unless you share your fears with her. How can you expect Parker to come to you if you don't go to him? In both those relationships, you have typically been the one to reveal less — for instance, if I remember correctly, Dr. Brennan's knowledge of your early life came years after her father re-entered her life and you convinced her, quite rightly, to reconnect with him."

"That was different," he said. "Max was back in Bones' life. He wanted in there. My dad's not back in my life; he doesn't want there. Completely different."

"But the point is he would not have gotten there unless you had pushed Dr. Brennan to open herself up. And now that she is trying to return the favor, you push her away. I'm not trying to discuss your emotions surrounding Rebecca's illness — you are more than capable of identifying them, when you want to — but I'm asking why you can't share those feelings with your wife, when she asks. Surely you have some feelings, whether positive or negative."

"I don't have positive feelings about this."

"Then why ever can't you share your negative feelings with Dr. Brennan when she asks about them? Is this some sort of noble gesture? To leave her unburdened?"

"Bones can bear burdens. She says sometimes they allow us to fly."

"That hardly answers my question. Why can't you share these emotions with Dr. Brennan? Are you worried she'll get jealous of Rebecca? That she can't handle these emotions? That she can't handle emotions? Why is this a burden you must share alone, despite the fact that you profess this to be a partnership?"

"Look, doc —"

"No, those surely aren't the reasons. The reasons are laughably straightforward. You dislike feeling vulnerable in general, and you especially dislike looking vulnerable in front of her. You are her Paladin, so to speak. But this woman knows everything about you. How do you think she'll react, if you talk about what Parker and Rebecca are going through?"

"I — She'll be fine. She'll try and say the right thing, and screw up, but in screwing up she'll say the right thing anyways."

"So for goodness' sakes, what's stopping you?"

"You act like she's in the right! Like she hasn't been extremely unsupportive, just because she disagrees with me. She's hardly sacrificing anything here, and gets you and Sweets involved by calling you before hopping on a plane to Atlanta with our daughter."

"Oh, undoubtedly that was not the right move. She made a mistake there. But problems can only be solved with communication of some sort, and right now, you're the one refusing to communicate. If she returns and refuses to speak with you, then it becomes something that she must work out. But she's given every indication that she's open and willing to speak about this. But this is an instance where it is _you_ that is vulnerable, not her, and that scares you. And you must get over that fear. For her, and especially for Parker."

"Really, Gordon-Gordon? You have to make me feel bad about everyone? Who's next? I'm not reading enough bedtime stories to Sophia?"

"Young Master Parker emulates you in every way. And, like a good father, I assume you've told him it's OK to be upset and it's OK to talk to you?"

"Of course."

"But he's still extremely distressed. Have you tried talking to him about how you feel?"

"His _mother_ is sick. He's going to be distressed, and he _knows _that _I _am _here_."

"But he _does_. Right now. His mother is sick, possibly dying. He needs to know how to behave, and he turns toward you. And you're projecting confidence, projecting assuredness, and so he is trying to. This is the simplest fix known to man! Just talk, to both of them. I don't need to counsel patience, or hope. It's _all there_, for the taking. Perhaps that makes it the difficult part. The necessity of vulnerability is a lesson that both you and Dr. Brennan forget at the times you need it most, but she trusts you to break through. Now, you must let her do the same to her. It's not vulnerable. Admitting weakness can often be the greatest show of strength. You know that, but must put it into practice. Right now, though, we eat."

Maddeningly, they did eat next. And then Gordon-Gordon and Sweets and Hodgins left. Parker went to go start his homework and he sat for a little while longer, nursing a beer, knowing that he should play with his kid or do some of the work he'd brought home.

He didn't know what to think about Gordon-Gordon's advice. _Talk to them. _It was the simplest. It was proactive. He could do that. But it wouldn't fix what was really, at the heart of it, wrong: That Becca was sick, that a month into treatment she was not showing any signs of improvement. That she was only getting worse. The possibilities on the other side of that _what if_ seemed to big to contend with, and Bones' view on how to handle things — stay out but stay informed — seemed diametrically opposed to his. He didn't know what to do about that. He didn't know if talking could reconcile their views. Usually they agreed to disagree, and they couldn't do that here.

But Parker was different. Parker was his kid; he needed to learn how to become a man but also get through this feeling loved and supported. And if Gordon-Gordon thought prodding him to release some pent-up feelings was the way to go, he would do it. If that meant sharing, he would do it. For Parker. He rose to go find him in the living room.

Parker looked at him judgmentally as he entered and said, "Did you and Bones make up yet?"

He sighed. "Not yet. But we will. I promise, and I'm sorry that she left. Do you want to walk Asta before we do homework?"

"Sure," Parker shrugged. "I'll go grab the leash."

They started trudging up 31st Street, meandering along their usual route to Montrose Park, when he asked, "So how's your mom?"

Parker scowled. "Fine, Dad."

"Yeah, I know that. It's just kind of scary, you know, to watch her be so sick. Your mom's so tough, normally. It's hard to … see her sick."

Parker snorted. "No offense, Dad, but you don't see the bad stuff. Like when she's throwing up or moaning in her sleep."

"Why don't you tell me about it, bud?"

Parker looked miserable. "It's hard, Dad. She's just sick. All the time. And it's not like she's got the flu. It's like she's there, and suddenly she doesn't look normal, and she's, like, smaller. I don't get it. I don't get why she's not getting even a _little_ bit better, after everything. She should get a little bit better. But all she does is sleep and puke. She can't eat normal food, and everyone's afraid she's going to get sick from me, and Brent's freaked and Aunt Sarah and Aunt Lisa suck."

"Yeah, Lisa and Sarah can be real pieces of work sometimes," he said. "None of us know when she's going to get better, Park. We're all pretty scared about this, too. I stop in at Holy Trinity every morning to light a candle for her. But we don't really know."

"She's … she's going to get better, right, though?" Parker asked. "I … don't want to ask her."

"Honestly, Parker? We don't know. She might not."

"Why?"

"I … I wish I knew, Park. I wish the doctors knew," he ran his hand along Parker's shoulder and tugged him to his side. "You know, when Bones and I solved crimes, we could answer the who. The how. The where. The when. But finding out why things happen? It's the hardest question out there. And I wish I could give you answers but I can't. And I'm sorry."

"That's not _fair_, though," Parker whined. I mean, Mom's a good person."

"I think your mom's a great person."

"She is! So I don't get why this is happening. I just don't." Parker began to cry a bit then, so Booth maneuvered them to a bench across from Montrose.

"Sometimes," Booth said, "Sometimes things happen that, even years later, we can't explain why they did. Maybe we can tell that something that we think is good wouldn't have happened, if the bad thing hadn't happened, but we still can't tell why it happened. Like, I met Bones because someone died. I love Bones, Park. Love her so much it hurts that we're in a fight. I can't imagine my life without her, not even a little. But I still can't tell you why that other person died. All I can do is accept that it happened and hope that person had a good life, at one point. But she didn't deserve to die, especially not the way she did. Or," he said, struggling for a minute. "I still can't understand why my mom died, either. It caused so much pain, to everyone around her. Without it, I probably wouldn't have joined the Army, or the FBI, or done _anything_ like what I've done with my life, but it still hurts that she died." His eyes burned mentioning his mother.

"An' Bones' mom is dead, too, and so is Mom's" Parker mumbled into his sleeve. "I don't get these things. You and Bones and Mom were prob'ly good kids, right?"

"For the most part. I probably got into a little bit more trouble than them."

"So I don't _get_ it."

"Neither do I. You're a great kid and … this is the type of stuff I wish I could protect you from. But Park? Your mom isn't dead, yet. And you can't go treating her like it. The news isn't good now, and I'm not going to tell you that all you have to do is pray and things will get better, but they _might_ get better. Keep it in mind. But anytime you're a little sad, come talk to me. I know I said that when she first got sick, but I really, really do mean it. You hear me, OK? I mean it, Park. Any time you're sad. It's OK to be sad and cry a little. It's good, even."

"OK," Parker said, and, for the first time, his body wracked with sobs. "I don't know why I'm crying," he finally said. "I don't know. I'm sorry."

"Hey, hey. Don't ever apologize for being sad, bub. Don't. Ever."

"It's just … nobody has any _answers_."

"No. It sucks."

They sat on the bench for a while, Parker sniffling, before he stood and said, "I want to go home."

So they headed back. Parker finished his homework without Bones, though she did call and talk to Parker for a bit. Parker passed the phone to him, though, which surprised him.

"Please don't speak," Bones said in a hushed voiced. "Just — please don't. I'm sorry for flying off, that was quite rash and I wasn't thinking clearly and it was an emotional and childish response. And I'm sorry for sending Sweets after you. I know that you don't like discussing things with him, and I don't either, but — I didn't know what else to do."

"It's OK, Bones," he said. "Gordon-Gordon came. I'm glad you did. I am. I'm sorry for what I said."

"Thank you," she murmured. "But I'm still angry, and I don't know why, and I don't think it's all at you. So I'm going to Angela's on Tuesday night so that I can process this before we proceed rationally. Lunch on Wednesday?"

"Bones — fine, lunch, but please. Come home."

"I … I don't think I can. I really am sorry. Please understand that, Booth."

"I do." They were not phone people, not at all, so he let it drop. "I'll see you soon then. Give Sophia a kiss for me?"

"Of course. Love you," she said, hanging up before he could repeat her words back to her.

* * *

So are you on Booth's side now? Bones' side? Are either OOC? Let me know! Read and review!


	9. There's So Much More than Me and You

Hey guys! Sorry for the long lag, but life kind of got in the way. This one is pretty long, but (I think) is worth it. The Booth/Brennan drama will get resolved, and soon we'll be back to the main storyline. I'm not sure if Brennan seems a little OOC right here; I like to think it's growth but please let me know if it's too much. Thank you again for reading and reviewing, and I hope you like this one.

* * *

Brennan was regretting her rashness by the time she arrived at the hotel. Traveling with Sophia was always difficult; doing so at the last minute and without Booth there was almost impossible. Booth was an extra set of hands, would make the funny faces, handled her during takeoff and landings when her sobs nearly crushed Brennan's heart. And figuring out how to maneuver the stroller and suitcase at the same time was one of the most frustrating dilemmas she had ever encountered.

But mostly, she missed Booth.

It had been careless, to leave that quickly. She knew they needed a "time-out" and that the trip to Atlanta posed one, but she still regretted it. Leaving had made the situation infinitely worse, she knew, making them two people who had erred instead of one person and a second to help improve the situation. Shortly before the wedding, her father had told her to be sure "never go to bed angry" and she was pretty sure she was doing that now, though she maintained that being able to hold a point of view in opposition to a spouse fearlessly was honesty, and honesty was the only thing that could make a marriage work. Ironic now, she considered ruefully.

Her borderline-tearful call to Sweets — who was she these days? — had definitely worsened things. But Booth was just so angry, so clearly hurting, so obviously conflicted about Rebecca. She _knew_ that, the way she knew the periodic table and how to read bones. And she was too close. He burned her. If he wouldn't let her help — and she truly wished he would — he had at least suggested that he talk to Sweets. She hated to tell someone else Booth's problems, and hurt that Sweets might be able to help Booth, but if it could … well, she'd do anything.

She called Annalise and Carolyn, instructed them to push meetings and that she would work from home the next day. Sick nanny, she said. No room in daycare already. Booth had an important meeting. They offered to drive materials out to the house in the morning but she quickly declined.

Booth's message and its earnestness made her ache a little, but she quickly pushed it down. She noticed his careful wording; obviously, he still saw his position as having extreme merit. That fact almost made her smile, because it meant he still had a bit of his stubbornness in him. She almost called Parker immediately but decided to wait until after 8, when Sophia would be asleep. Instead, she and Sophia played with a few toys — she was becoming quite adept at verbal labels — and worked on some auditory and tactile development, then wandered around the hotel identifying flower colors before taking a bath and going to bed. Finally, there was no avoiding it.

Parker answered the phone, as Booth promised. He didn't say anything about Atlanta so neither did she. They talked for a short amount of time, mostly about Chinese and science class, and he filled her in on Rebecca's condition and beating Hodgins at the Wii game before saying, "And then Gordon-Gordon made us dinner."

"Dr. Sweets brought Dr. Wyatt along?"

"Yeah. Gordon-Gordon cooked and then Dad helped. Are you mad at Dad?"

"Your father and I had a disagreement, Parker," she said slowly. "You've seen us debate points before." They debated points, yes; they even had arguments and got mad and once every several months Booth would storm off and fall asleep on the couch only for her to guiltily poke him awake because she couldn't sleep after fights. People who lived together all the time did that. After all, one person still could not be everything to another at all times.

But they had not _fought_ in years. Not like that. They'd had three or four big arguments, but that was before Sophia was even conceived; otherwise, nothing. She could not even remember them fighting that badly in their early years of working together; they hadn't known each other well enough to cause actual emotional pain.

"I know, it's just, you've never gone to Atlanta before," he sounded so hesitant and scared. It was heart-crushing.

"My decision to fly to Atlanta was extremely irrational and I regret it now. It was a disproportionately emotional reaction. We had a fight and I acted impetuously because I was mad. I'm sorry, Parker." Parker, of all people, did not deserve to get stuck in a sort of limbo as some of his parents fought. "I shouldn't have left like that. Even if I was mad at your father it was unfair to you." Parents, even step-parents, should be there for their children. "I'll be back Tuesday night. Do you … do you want to perhaps go to Good Stuff on Wednesday after basketball practice?"

He shrugged. "Sure, I guess."

"Alright. Could I talk to your father please? And give me a call tomorrow, okay, Park?" She felt the overwhelming urge to make everything right by Parker.

She apologized, haltingly, getting the distinct impression that nothing she was meant was being properly conveyed. That had always been at the center of her relationship with Booth; the fact that they often meant the exact same thing, or had the same goal, yet their approaches and ways of viewing things were so diametrically opposed that it was difficult to bridge them. And she was constantly the inferior one at being able to simply show him how she saw things. Now, though, she needed to be in charge.

She hung up quickly after agreeing to a Wednesday lunch.

She got very little actual work done on Monday; instead, she and Sophia went to a park for most of the afternoon. She didn't call home but found herself wishing that Booth called. He did not.

Her speech was over a luncheon to a group at a symposium for promising undergraduates studying anthropology. She had been invited to be a keynote speaker, but had opted for a lunchtime address so that she wouldn't have to stay overnight. She spoke on the continuing necessity for anthropologists and took questions that ranged from inane to reasonably intelligent before departing to the airport.

Once Sophia had drifted asleep on the plane, she thought back to her re-meeting with Booth — when he had her detained at Dulles on her return from Guatemala. She had a fleeting irrationaly, happy moment, thinking perhaps he might do that again. Track her down at the airport and force her to talk to him. But that was just empty hope. Booth, she knew, felt extremely guilty after a fight and become overly deferential. He worried that if he pushed her too hard she might flee, though that was a ridiculous notion. She had disproven that many times, though today she admittedly had not. But she knew Booth, and knew it was incredibly unlikely that he would pick her up today.

That was the fact, perhaps, that irritated her the most about the conversation with Booth — not that she was a bad mother or an uncaring person, but that she did not know him. Even in the early, early days of their partnership, before Cam, probably while he was seeing Tessa, he had fascinated her. She was an anthropologist, and he was a subject that she wanted, desperately, to understand comprehensively. She had spent the last nine years trying to catalogue everything that he did, to know everything about him. When she looked into his darkened eyes during intercourse, sometimes she even wanted to _be_ him, to know the feelings and sensations he was experiencing. To say she didn't understand him was a "fight" reaction, and it stung deeply.

Of course, she had fled, which she supposed was not much better.

After retrieving the car from long-term parking, she headed toward Dupont, but surprised herself by taking a left onto M from Connecticut and instead heading back to Georgetown. She realized after parking that neither Booth nor Parker was home, though that was unsurprising, considering it was barely past five. She called Angela to let her know she was going back home — which made Angela ecstatic — and promised a coffee date sometime over the weekend to explain things. A quick call to Rebecca's home confirmed that Parker would be there until Booth got off work, probably around eight. She organized her files and did a little work — she was helplessly behind — then fed and bathed Sophia. By half past eight, though, the boys still weren't home.

Brent called then, apologetically, and asked he she could possibly come pick up Parker. Becca's body was still treating the chemotherapy drugs like an invading poison and she was feeling quite ill and Parker was being belligerent and unhelpful. She agreed, bundling Sophia into the car and sending Booth a message that she was home and had Parker.

Parker was quite unresponsive in the car, for which she couldn't exactly blame him. She asked him about school; he answered with a brusque _fine_. She asked him about basketball; he just rolled his eyes. She asked him about his mother; she received an acidic, "Why do you care?"

"I care, Parker," she floundered. "Because I care about you."

"That's a crock of shit," he retorted.

"Parker! That language, especially around your sister, is quite unnecessary. And while I'm unclear what I'd do with a pot of excrement —" she paused warily, "I do want to know how your mother is doing. And how you are doing. You are an important person to me."

"She's sick, OK? She's always sick, but it's no worse and no better this week. It just really sucks, Bones."

She suddenly remembered Booth's first piece of advice on how to connect to victim's families. _Give a little to get a little_. Rebecca certainly qualified as a victim. Parker was Rebecca's family. "Parker, when I was 15, my parents had to leave. It was … It was for my own safety that they went. But the point is, they left me, and I didn't know where they went, or when they would be back, and so I was quite bereft at their absence. It was a loss. And I was quite anxious and confused as well. I can approximate what you're experiencing emotionally right now. Unlike me, though, you have me and your dad to talk to. So please. Don't… don't be angry about everything. I made a mistake by letting my argument with your father affect you. And I'm sorry."

He snorted. "I'm sorry, Bones," he said, and this time he meant it. "But honestly, it's nothing too bad right now. And Dad and I talked. Promise," he paused. "What happened after that? When your parents went away?"

"I lived with a variety of different foster families before going to college a year early. I completed my undergraduate work in three years and my graduate studies in four, before starting to work with the UN and on digs and at the museum. I was quite a prodigious student, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, Dad says you're a genius," Parker said distractedly. "But when did Grandpa Max come back?"

"Oh. After I had met your father; we'd been working together a little over a year. Fourteen years since I last saw him."

"What about your mom?" Parker's eyebrows were knitted together; clearly, this was a puzzle to be solved. She was proud of that trait in him.

"She died. In an accident. Shortly after they left."

"Like Dad's mom's car accident?"

"Not quite. She had a head injury, which was minor at first, but it was so small she didn't know it was there, and she died quite unexpectedly."

"And then Grandpa Max found you again?"

"Well, yes. Parents always come back whenever it is possible."

They arrived home then, and she put Sophia to bed as Parker watched TV and read _The Giver_. He went to upstairs around 9:30 though, leaving Brennan to work peacefully. She checked in on him at 10:15, finding him asleep. Extracting the book from his fingers, she set it on the nightstand, gently kissed his temple, and turned out the light.

Booth came in around 10:30, looking slightly disheveled. "Hey," he said, tossing his keys on the coffee table. "Thanks for grabbing Parker." He moved back into the kitchen. "How was Atlanta?"

He seemed strangely normal. "It was … fine," she said guardedly, putting down the latest _Scientific American_ and following him into the kitchen. "Do you want anything to eat? I can reheat something. Macaroni? An omelet? Thai?" She started to scour the refrigerator, realizing that she'd been gone for four days.

"No, Kant remembered we hadn't eaten anything around 8 and ordered some Chinese."

"And you accuse me of forgetting to eat when I work too hard," she said lightly. "What were you working late on?"

He sighed and shook his head. "Working our way out of this wiretapping mess. More reviewing the privacy regulations. Taking a fresh look over the Elbert kidnapping. An interagency dispute over the death of a CIA operative. Tons of crap, really. Sophia and Parker both asleep?"

"Yes, I just checked on them both. Sophia … missed you."

The vein in his jaw jumped. "Yeah, well I missed her too."

"And it was extremely difficult to travel with just her. The suitcase, plus the stroller, you know."

He just kind of chuckled and shook his head. "Yeah, I feel really bad for you, Bones."

"I don't expect you too, unless whatever that's compelled you to act angrily and derisively over the last several weeks has become even more prominent." Okay, she hadn't meant to phrase it that way.

"Okay, we're really going to get into it now, huh?" He set down his glass of water.

"I don't think … there's anything to get _into_," she said. "I don't want to fight again. I think, as adults, we can both acknowledge that we behaved poorly on Sunday? I accept that I did not behave optimally. I shouldn't have called Sweets, for instance. And I shouldn't have left."

"Hey, hey. I was being an ass. Calling Sweets was a good thing."

She nodded. It was true. "True, but we shouldn't require our former psychologist to come in and mediate an argument. Booth," she started. "The part that … The part that hurt the most wasn't the slurs against my abilities as a mother or emotional capabilities. It was when you said that I didn't know you. And that's false. I know that is false. I _know_ you, Booth, from every scar on your body to the fact that you always use your right hand to put on sunglasses to what the type of pie available at the diner means for your mood. And right now, you're acting out of guilt over the Rebecca situation. Every single one of your actions appears to come straight from guilt, mixed with fear and anger. And those two, I can understand. But the only person you stay angry at is _yourself_, and there's no reason for you to feel that. And fear doesn't make you so volatile. So that leaves guilt. But I can't figure what you could possibly feel guilty about. It makes no logical sense. I tried thinking illogically … And the only thing I could come up with a feeling of failure over your ability to protect Parker. And I really don't understand _why_, or why that would make you so angry at me. And I … I would like you to explain that to me."

He smiled wryly. "Temperance Brennan, wanting to know the why of a mystery?"

"This isn't a _mystery_, Booth, this is our _marriage_," she said impatiently, and his eyes caught in surprise. "It was logical that I would behave irrationally when attacked. But I don't feel its logical that you would get so upset about that, or about why me describing our lives as 'dull' would set you on this … path. And I'd like for you to explain it to me. I want to help. I'm here to help. But you … you need to tell me how."

He sighed, ran his hand through his hair. "It's just… What if she _dies_? What's that do to Parker? I'm going nuts thinking about it. And you haven't been _home_ lately, it's all about the bones or the baby or the museum and right now I'm just going insane from it."

"Statistically, she _could_ die from this disease. But that was not your fault."

"Damn it, Bones, do _not_ say things like that. And it's not _guilt_. Well. Yeah, maybe a little. It's … you know? We work so damn hard to make sure Parker's safe. We take care of enemies to this nation and we put bad guys away and then we _stop_ putting bad guys away to give him a sense of stability. Becca works her ass off. Brent works … well, he works a lot. So yeah. Maybe I'm frustrated. We can't _stop_ this."

She was quiet for a moment. "I'm scared, too."

"I didn't say I was scared, Bones." She looked at him, and he broke the eye contact first. "Okay, yeah, it's a little terrifying."

"We've both lost mothers. We both know that, objectively, it made our lives far worse, especially in the short-term. And I think of what Rebecca must be feeling and I can't bear it. I can only arrive at the fact that I'm very scared. But I know that you have to be more scared than I am. And that … terrifies me a little, too." She bit her lip, and reached out, sliding her fingers between his thumb and fingers. He squeezed. "You and I have … never seen anything the same way. You say magic; I say science. You say faith; I say biology. Communication is the only way we accomplish anything, even though we don't really like talking. And we stopped that. But I can only go so far. I can be here, I will _always_ listen with respect, I can try and understand any irrational thought, but I need you to try, and apologize, and help me understand what you're thinking. Because I can't comprehend it on my terms."

He clasped her fingers more tightly, bringing them to his lips for a kiss. "You're goddamn amazing, you know that?"

She squinted, confused. "So are those terms satisfactory? You'll agree to be more responsive? I can be a very good filter for you; I just need to know what you're feeling."

"Yes. I will. I promise," he said, leaning forward and kissing her softly.

"Okay," she said, relieved, pulling back and folding her arms in front of her expectantly.

"Oh — you mean — now?"

"Well, yes. I still don't fully understand why you're feeling this way or why my remark started this."

"What? Okay. Okay," he sat back a little, tapped both index fingers on the side of his nose, thumbs pressed to his chin.

"And please be honest. I appreciate that."

"I know that," he said wryly. He sat back. "God, Bones, you sure we have to do this tonight?"

"Quite positive," she replied. Sweets said confronting issues as they appeared was key.

"You know, why don't you ask questions? To start. So I know what you want to know."

"But Booth, I've been clear. I want to know everything. Ideally, I would be able to think what you think and …"

"Okay, okay, and see what I see. This speech still freaks me out. But Bones? The biggest thing here, about this whole situation? Is that I need you. Becca … We might lose Becca and Parker'll be destroyed and right now I have _no _idea what's going on. I need you to do what I ask and I often really don't know what. And right now I need you to ask questions. And be there. Go to the doctor's appointments. Hell, come _home_ at night. I need to be able to trust you before I can talk to you. And you just leaving after our fight? _Really_ pissed me off."

She flinched at his implication that he couldn't trust her. "I'm … sorry. Truly. While you, as you are closer to Rebecca and aren't very good at compartmentalizing, have clearly been having more trouble with this, it has been difficult for me to watch you. To watch Parker and Rebecca. Going into the lab helps me order my thoughts and see with more clarity. You know that. And so I relied upon that for a few nights. I apologize. But," she continued. "you know that I would do anything for you. And sometimes you can be too close to something. You taught me that, when we were working cases? And I think you're too close right now; metaphorically, you can't see straight. And that's why I'm trying to keep a distance from treatment. So that we're not too emotional."

"Bones, this? This? Is all emotion! You can't study a bone until everything all ordered up, it _won't_ be! It shouldn't be!" He got up and started pacing, and she crossed her arms. He was getting angry again.

"This _requires_ that someone maintain a rational presence of mind. And I am the best one at that, as well as the one best suited to it right now. And I _should_ have been more here for you, but again, Booth. Please, _please_ respect my decision to respect Rebecca's privacy. I bring her food, I pick up Parker whenever she needs it, when she needs a recommendation on where to buy organic household products or help with her dietary needs I answer every one of her emails. I need you to respect that line between Rebecca and I that I am not willing to cross. I am here for _you_, but I won't be bullied into berating her doctor just so you feel you've done something. I don't think that helps the situation at all. _That's_ part of me being here for you too." She looked at him evenly.

He finally stopped pacing. Deflated a little. "Do you really — _really_ — think that I'm not being helpful?"

"Booth," she sighed, and put her hands on his chest. "I know you have the best intentions. I _know_ that. But … you're angry. And that has a proven, negative effect on stress levels. And that's not good for Rebecca right now. Nobody doubts that you care deeply about Rebecca's well being. But she doesn't want you to hover, and anger doesn't change anything, doesn't alleviate anything." She stared at him as his jaw clenched and unclenched, and he finally swallowed. "And still — I don't get why you're angry, or feeling guilty."

He pulled her hands off his chest; cradled them gently. "Sometimes it's hard when you can't do anything. You get a little crazy. And I — I just got mad. It just … so mad."

"You can do things, though; just not the things you like. You can't cure Rebecca but you can make things easier on Parker."

"When Parker was born — and the same thing with Sophia — I promised myself that I would be a better father than my old man. That I'd protect them from hurt. That they'd have normal childhoods, with swings and sandboxes and baseball games and … prom. Happy things. And this is just going to tear Parker apart."

"Nothing's done yet. She _might_ recover. But don't forget, Hank came in and put you back together. And many years later, you came in and helped me heal emotionally. And if Rebecca does die, we can be here. We can … repair Parker, if his heart metaphorically tears. And we will. You will. I will help you. But you can't start thinking about _that_ yet."

He smiled, put his hands on his hips and pulled her closer. "That's a lot of faith, there, Bones."

"Not at _all_," she replied. "Newton's First Law — unless acted upon by an outside force, an object travels in a constant direction at a constant speed. I can't fathom an outside force that would be great enough to cause you to deviate from your path of being an attentive father."

He kissed her deeply then, maneuvering her so she was pressed against the counter. For comfort, she hopped onto it as his palms worked up her blouse and his knee between his legs. "Wait," she gasped. "One more question." She pulled his hands out of her shirt. "Are you happy? With your job, with me, with … us?" Her voice finally cracked. This was the part of the conversation she _needed_ to have answered, but the part she didn't want to hear.

"God, Bones," he said, finally ceasing his ministrations. "The job — I'm still getting comfortable with it."

"You're really very, _very_ good at it," she insisted. He was. She wasn't sure if he comprehended that most days, but he was such a good leader at the FBI. Everyone at the Bureau remarked on it, and she had seen it herself. "But if you're not absolutely happy with it... if you think it's the wrong choice ... you should go back."

"I mean, yeah, I'm not 100 percent comfortable with it yet. I miss running around every day and I miss chasing down the bad guys sometimes. And reminding me I'm good at it — it's like me telling you how good you are as head of the museum. You like it, but it's taking some adjustment, you know? But I was getting old — old is worthless at the FBI unless you're doing substantive policy crap. But no matter what, it's worth it, Bones. You, this, Sophia, Parker? It's all I'm ever going to want. And if it means that we should have safer jobs to be better parents, it's absolutely worth it. You, Temperance Brennan," he said, kissing her jawline, "have made me happier than I thought was humanly possible. Every day. Even when you're kicking my ass."

"You know," she said, struggling to maintain her composure as his hands ghosted down her back, "that I only do that when you absolutely deserve it." She finally let herself be consumed by the kiss.

Wednesday, she finally felt like she could breathe a sigh of relief — Sophia was back with the nanny, Booth was whistling at breakfast again, Parker was running up and down the main hallway. Which was why she was completely caught off-guard when Russ called to let her know they'd be in by dinnertime the next day.

"Dinner time _tomorrow_?" she asked.

"Yes, Tempe," Russ said, annoyed. "You didn't forget, did you? Hayley's got doctor's appointments all day Friday so we wanted to get down there early.

"I didn't_ forget_," she said defensively. "I've just been busy."

"You're still cool with all of us coming up, right?"

"Of course. I can put you, Amy, and Nicholas in the mother-in-law suite, Dad in Booth's den, and the girls in the finished guest room. What?" she asked as her brother began to laugh.

"Nothing," he said. "It's just — your house is big."

"As it should be. Do you know how much we paid for those five bedrooms?"

"Yes, Tempe, I do. I'll see you tomorrow, OK, sis?"

So her already-shortened workweek lost another four hours, as she left early Wednesday to clean the house and again on Thursday to meet her brother, father, sister-in-law, nieces and nephew.

"Aunt Temperance," Emma and Hayley cried, tumbling out of the mini-van as she opened the door. "Where's Sophia?"

"Two-year-old little girls are infinitely more exciting than eight-month-old baby boys," Amy called, unstrapping Nicholas from his car seat.

"How are you, Tempe?" her father asked, kissing her cheek.

"Fine, Dad. Booth's still at work and Parker's at practice; they'll be home in a few, though." Her father had moved down to Newport News to live near Russ, who now ran three repair shops, after Nicholas' birth. Hayley was getting sicker and they needed the extra hands. "How have you been?"

"Eighth grade is _so_ fun, Aunt Tempe," Emma said knowledgably.

"Emma's got her first _boy_friend," Hayley cut in.

"You're a little young for a mature, sexually intimate relationship, aren't you?" Brennan asked.

"They're not that serious, Temperance," Amy cut in quickly. "She and Dylan go to the movies and that's it, isn't it, Emma?"

"Yeah, Mom," Emma said.

"Tempe, thanks again for letting us stay here. We'd like to take everyone out to dinner tomorrow night, maybe that bar you and Booth used to go to all the time?"

"That's really not necessary, Russ. We've got more than enough room, and our combined incomes — ow!" Her father grinned at her. She understood what he meant. "Dinner sounds lovely. The bar will be extremely crowded, though. There's a pizza place Parker enjoys on Dupont, Pizza Paradiso. We could go there."

They discussed the plans for the next few days — Max was taking Emma sight-seeing on Friday as Russ and Amy took Hayley to the doctors, some family things on Saturday, home early Sunday. Emma was insisting on a stop at Good Stuff, and Brennan made sure that they waited until Parker could go as well.

Booth and Parker arrived home shortly after six, and everyone sat around the table to talk some more. Booth still seemed burdened — heavy from the world, but not angry, not since their talk. When Nicholas started fussing Booth went for him, walking him around and gently cooing at him.

"You look good, there, Booth," Max teased. "You two going to have any more? I could do with some more grandbabies as gorgeous as these five."

"Dad," Russ hissed, and Booth just looked at Brennan, eyebrows raised, clearly signaling that it was her question to answer. He would have as many children as she wanted, she knew, but she had never given any indication to want more.

She broke eye contact and turned back to her father. "We'll see," she finally said. "Maybe in a year or two, when Sophia's a little more independent." She tried to avoid Booth's surprised face.

"Whoa, Tempe — seriously?"

"Why not?" she shrugged. "Anthropologically it's less pressure on offspring when they have multiple siblings. We're more than financially capable, but right now is a difficult time, between our jobs and Rebecca and the current children."

"Who's Rebecca?" Amy asked, and the conversation resumed.

They stayed up late talking after dinner, but eventually the youngest children went down, then the girls headed to bed, then Max, then finally Amy, giving Russ a tender kiss goodnight. Booth stepped out to make one last phone call for the evening, finally leaving the siblings alone.

"Thanks again for letting us stay here this weekend, Tempe."

"Of course. It's always good to see you, Amy, the children, Dad," she replied, moving to pour herself one last cup of decaf.

"I actually wanted to talk to you about something," he said.

"Yes?" She took a sip of the coffee.

"Dad's — Dad's been having some heart problems. Some lung problems."

"That's not extraordinary; he smoked for years when we were children and follows a diet even unhealthier than Booth's." She leaned against the counter.

"My diet isn't unhealthy; I like _meat_, Bones," Booth groused, entering and kissing her temple.

"Russ appears to be concerned about Dad's health, despite the fact that it's entirely unsurprising giving his lifestyle choices."

"Your dad's still kind of young, right?"

Russ nodded. "Sixty-five."

"He should be fine for a few more years then, right?" Booth said.

"He's been having heart trouble; he's ignoring it, though."

"What do you mean, heart trouble?"

"High cholesterol. He got admitted to the ER a few weeks ago for wheezing and fatigue. They say he's a high risk for a heart attack. And his lungs are giving him trouble, too."

"Again, to be expected. Would you like me to lecture him?"

"No, no," Russ said quickly, looking around. "It's just … Hayley's not doing too hot. We're not expecting great news tomorrow. We'll be making a lot more trips up to Richmond and D.C., and Emma's at this crappy, dramatic stage and getting in a lot of trouble, and Nicholas is young…"

"And Sophia is still a toddler and Parker's mother's dying; what game are we playing?" Booth asked impatiently.

"I'm not — I'm not saying that you guys don't have it hard. God knows that you guys work a lot longer hours than we do. But I just want to work out a plan, you know, worst-case."

"Logically, the worst-case is that Dad dies and we bury him, I assume?" Brennan said. Both men rolled their eyes.

"Look, really, Russ? Between you guys having Hayley and us having Rebecca right now, I don't think any of us can handle thinking about another health crisis right now. God forbid, if something happens to Max, we'll all take care of it then. But not till then, OK?"

A long silence later, Russ finally said, "Yeah. I guess that's what we gotta do, right?"

Booth nodded and swallowed. "Bed, everyone?"

They headed upstairs and quietly began their bedtime routine. As she was washing her face, Booth, who took far less time to prepare for bed, leaned into the doorframe of their in-suite master bath. "Bones?"

She turned the water off. She knew what he wanted to talk about. "Yes, Booth?"

"Did you — did you mean what you said to your dad earlier?"

"About having another child?"

"No, about whether he was taking his pills on time. Yes, the third kid thing."

"Didn't you say the number of children we had was my decision?"

"I'd love to have another kid, Bones, if you wanted to. And if we thought we could manage it."

She sighed. "It's not something I think about all the time. I'm not Angela. But — we're doing pretty well with Sophia, aren't we?"

"We're doing _great_ with Sophia."

"Yes. And yes, I never considered having more than one child until very recently. I'm not — I'm not the most natural mother. Objectively. But I'd never considered having children until about a year before we conceived Sophia. And she's _amazing_. I don't think I'll be — we'll be — ready to really try for another year at least, but — I never thought I could be a mother, or enjoy being a mother, really. And then you, and Sophia — I know I could do it. That we could do it. If we wanted to, the two of us could do it. And so yes, I was acknowledging the possibility."

He smiled, rubbing his nose gently against hers. "The two of us can do anything, Bones."


	10. Slipping in my faith until I fall

This short chapter is brought to you by Snowpocalypse 2010, and a lot of hot chocolate. Seriously. Thesis=ignored. Papers=ignored. Emails=ignored. Life is good. This chapter is a bit short (comparatively) and it's a bit of an interlude. I'm trying to get all the pieces out there, all nice and ready to weave together. Hopefully it's working.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter. I wasn't able to reply to any because I was writing, but I PROMISE to do so this round. On that note, the reviews last time were a littttle on the light side. Not complaining (no seriously. That is not bitter passive-aggressiveness. It is honesty and earnestness), but when Snowpocalypse is gone, motivation is definitely appreciated. I'd love to see a few more this time around.

Enjoy Parker! He's such a favorite. Title from the Killers' Read My Mind; last chapter was from Ingrid Michaelson's Turn to Stone.

* * *

Parker smacked the puck. Hard. It felt good to be back on the ice.

"Nice hustle Booth, nice hustle," Coach McGrory yelled. "Alright, men, pack it up. Good day. Booth! Gotta minute?"

As the rest of his team headed toward the bleachers, Parker slid in Coach's direction. "Yes, sir?" he asked, taking off his helmet.

"That was so damn fine footwork out there, Booth. You and your dad been practicing in the off-season?"

Parker shrugged and rolled his eyes. "Kinda. He's busy, and I'm only over there part of the time. We made it out last weekend, though. Does that count?"

"Yeah, it does. Listen, a few of the other mothers e-mailed me to tell me about your mom, an' I just wanted t'make sure she's OK, that you're OK. So …?"

"Am I OK? Yeah. I'm fine."

"And your mom?"

"Well, she's a month into chemo. It kinda kicked her ass for a while, but she's had the last week off for running tests and she starts back up Monday. Things are fine."

Coach nodded. "Glad to hear it. Looking forward to seeing all your folks on the sidelines. And tell your mother she's got a damn fine center forward on her hands."

Parker grinned. "I will, sir. Thanks!"

And they were fine. Mostly. Mom was pretty sick, just kind of like with the stomach flu all the time, kind of — the one day she let him come along and see chemo, the nurses said she was one of the "hardest hit." She said she was fine, but she mostly puked and slept and drank water and took pills, and sometimes fought with her sisters. He spent most nights at Dad's now. He felt bad, but staying at Dad's was just easier. At Mom's, he always had this … headache. And he always wanted to yell at someone (mostly Aunt Lisa or Aunt Sarah. They didn't come every weekend now, after Aunt Sarah took him to Dad's after they got into a fight and then Dad yelled at her _good_.). At Dad's, things felt normal, and that made him angry, if he thought about it. So he tried not to. Which sometimes only made him angrier. And then Bones and Dad had gotten into that stupid fight, which would have been _fine_ (it was Bones and Dad, they were going to fight but they were ridiculous, always doing PDA, and Dad was always smiling now) but then Dad was mopey and Sweets got involved and Gordon-Gordon cooked and Hodgins sucked at Wii Boxing.

He didn't really horse around in the locker room, showering and dressing really fast. Surprisingly, Mom was there with Aunt Lisa to pick him up. "Hey!" he called, shoving his bag into Aunt Lisa's arms. "I didn't know you'd come, too." Aunt Lisa or Aunt Sarah usually picked him up alone, as Mom was sick and unable to drive because she was getting this side effect called "chemo brain" that made her kind of forgetful and blonde. "Are you feeling OK?" Her eyes looked really, seriously red.

"I'm feeling pretty good this afternoon, I thought we could all do dinner and a movie. Brent's going to meet us," Mom said, hugging him. "How was practice?"

"Pretty good," Parker said, skipping off the curb. "I'm still awesome."

"You really shouldn't say that, Park," Aunt Lisa said, though she looked like she might be smiling. Maybe. Looking at his mom and her sister, he realized that the reason Aunt Lisa probably was always so upset was that Mom was so much prettier than her. Mom still had all her pretty hair, and even though she was too skinny and looked tired, she still looked happier than Aunt Lisa. And Aunt Sarah had not kept her figure after his four cousins.

"Ah, come off it, Lisa. He is pretty awesome at hockey," Mom smiled. "How was school, bub?"

He rolled his eyes. "Pretty boring today."

"You say that every day."

"That's cause it's always boring. It's so easy but they won't let me talk in the middle of class. We had the math bee test today, though. I messed up some of the triangles, I think, but I _know_ I got the algebra. And they'll have to put me on, I'm the only one who can do stuff with x's and y's at the same time."

"Did you pick up that form in the office about the soccer banquet?"

"Yeah, it's in my bag. Is everyone coming?"

"We'll call your dad tomorrow, double check."

"Dad wouldn't miss it," he said. Dad and Bones never missed crap like sports banquets.

"We'll just make sure he doesn't have to work," Mom said. "Brent and I are going, and Aunt Sarah will be down that weekend."

"Where do you want to eat, Parker?" Aunt Lisa, who was driving, asked.

"Mandarin Palace!" he said. Mom grimaced a little. "Maybe not? Will that be bad for your stomach? I thought this week was supposed to be better, that's all. And you like Chinese." he said.

"No, no, it's good. It's good," Mom said. "Don't forget, Parker, you have that test tomorrow morning."

"Test?"

"For the schools? Temperance said it wasn't a big deal; you just answer the questions. We should probably get you to bed early though. Dad said he or Temperance will pick you up at 9:30."

"You know, Parker, you don't have to do this if you don't want to," Aunt Lisa said, and Mom jabbed her.

He shrugged. "I don't really care where I go to school next year. Dad says I can stay on the same hockey team, and everyone _knows_ you make all-new friends in middle school. Mrs. Butterfield was telling us today how all her friends in middle school went to different elementary schools. Plus, I can take Chinese at school next year, and then I can have my Sunday afternoons back. Plus Dad said he'd let me go to China." Yeah, he'd kind of miss his friends if he went to a new school, but it wasn't like he was moving. Plus, he wouldn't have to wear a uniform. He'd checked.

"Just remember how much this school is going to cost your parents before you sign up for it," Aunt Lisa cautioned.

"Bones _gave me _a book for a reason," Parker said. "It all goes towards school. I already tried using it to buy an Xbox." He had, too. Bones had been _pissed_.

"Parker's right," Mom said quickly. She seemed tireder for some reason, and he felt bad, because Dad said he needed to do everything he could to make sure Mom had it easy. "It's not really going to cost anyone anything, thank God, so let's just drop it, Lise?"

Dinner was pretty fun, Mom and Lisa relaxed and everyone told stories. He did an impression of Chris Paluska crashing at hockey practice, which was pretty good (if he did say so himself), and made Mom and Brent crack up a lot. They went to the movie, the latest Sherlock Holmes sequel, which was only OK and Mom fell asleep. Brent shook her gently awake, and they went for ice cream before going home.

Dad picked him up the next morning, Sophie in the backseat. He was dressed normally, for once, in his FBI hoodie and jeans.

"Sophie's coming to the test?" he asked.

"Nah, you — Bones just had to go into the museum today, take care of some crap. We've got to do the grocery shopping while you're at this thing. If it's nice in the afternoon, we're going to the zoo."

"Ming Ling!" Sophie called, giggling delightedly.

"You're going to go see Ming Ling?" he asked her, amused.

"Yeah. She live zoo," Sophie explained knowledgably. "And Foo Lan too. You?"

"Nah, not this afternoon," he said, and Sophie just kept babbling. "Did I talk this much as a kid?"

"Honestly? I don't think anyone talked this much as a kid. Cept maybe Bones."

"Where is this test?"

"National Cathedral School," Dad said.

"And it shouldn't take too long?"

"Nah, you're out by 12. It's just one of those tests like you do every March."

He pulled the soccer banquet form out. "Mom wants to know if you're coming."

Dad looked over. "Yeah, that should be OK. Gimme a copy?"

Dad was right; the test was _easy_. He got every one of the math questions right and probably all the science too. _China, watch out for Parker Michael Stinson Booth_, he thought.

As they were driving up to Mom's, she came out onto the porch; obviously, she'd been watching out for them. Dad noticed this too, and he parked the car, grabbed Sophia, and walked him up.

"Should you be outside with bare feet, Bex?" he asked.

"Hello to you too, Seel," she said, smiling a little. "I'm fine. Quit it."

"Fine," he grumbled. "How'd the tests go this week?"

"Fine, everything's … fine," Mom swallowed. "I just wanted to talk to you about this week and timing and stuff. We've got sandwich stuff if you want something. I realize that it's probably been about two hours since you ate, so you must be starving."

"Three actually; you got roast beef?" Dad did the Booth grin. Mom rolled her eyes and shoved them both inside.

"Park, why don't you take Sophia into the living room while Dad and I hash out the schedule stuff and make lunch? I think the DVD of _Finding Nemo _is still around."

"Nemo!" Sophie shrieked. He looked between his two parents suspiciously, but took Sophie's hand.

Once Sophie was safely plopped in front of the DVD, he tried sneaking over to the kitchen to hear what Mom and Dad were _really _talking about, but the angles were all wrong for being stealthy, and all he could see was them making sandwiches. Damn. He shuffled back and pulled Sophie onto his lap. She grabbed his nose in thanks.

Lunch was pretty quick, and Dad and Sophie peaced out, Dad telling him he'd come by the next night after dinner.

"Is everything OK?" he asked Mom suspiciously.

She sighed and looked away. "Sit down, Park."

He sat, his arms folded. "The cancer?"

She nodded. "I needed to tell your father. They did tests this week, you know. To see how things were going. Full-body scans, blood tests, everything."

"Not enough went away."

"No, Park," she said. "It grew."

"It grew?"

"Yeah."

"But they've been treating you for almost two months!"

"I know. They're going to mix up treatment, do something a little stronger, and if stuff isn't better by Thanksgiving time they're going to do another operation. Cut some more out."

"So you're going to be sicker this month?"

"Not necessarily. My side effects — the puking, the sleeping, the chemo brain — don't have anything to do with how well the treatment is going. It's just my body doesn't like these medicines. So even if the next ones are stronger, they might like them better. Does that make sense?"

He nodded. "Where is it, now?"

"Where is what?"

"The — cancer."

"Lungs, mostly, is what they're concerned about. And my liver." She stared at him. "What are you thinking, Park?"

"What?" he looked up quickly.

"What are you thinking, Park?" she asked gently.

"What am I thinking? Oh," he said. "Nothing, really."

"You don't have any questions."

"Are you ok? Does it … hurt?"

"I don't know if it hurts yet, Park. We'll see. Personally, I'm hoping that the stronger stuff works _and_ that it doesn't make me feel this bad. And I think that could happen."

"You aren't —"

"I am not worried. I am not scared. The doctors are on top of things. They know what's going on now."

"Dad said I should ask these things."

"And I appreciate it. I really do. Am I happy with these results? No, I wish things were getting better. But we're trying something new and we're going to hope it works. It's not your job to worry about these things, OK?"

There was nothing that he could say, so he didn't. "Ok," he said.

"Your job is to be a kid. And speaking of that, why don't you call up Tyler or Carter or Mitchell or someone and hang out? It's been a while."

So he did that, because Mom asked him too, and the next day he hugged her tight and told her to kick chemo's butt and that he'd come over after school on Tuesday. He did his math homework with Bones and convinced Dad that even though it was almost November they could totally still run in the morning, and played with Asta and talked with Bones and Dad about what to maybe do for Sophie's birthday in a few weeks and then fake fell asleep on Bones' couch so she would wake him up and take him to bed. He had some questions for her.

Sure enough, when she shook him 'awake,' he just turned and said, "Bones? Can we talk?"

"Of course, Parker," she said, hesitantly sitting next to him.

"What's that word for what you are? When you don't believe God exists?"

"Atheist."

"No, the other one. The one that's more about science."

"Rational empiricist?"

"Yeah. What happens when stuff doesn't behave rationally?"

"You just have to wait a while longer, do more research, observe more data. Eventually a rational answer becomes clear. Are you struggling in science class?"

"No, I aced the nervous system. What I'm saying is — my mom's in chemo, you know that, right?"

"Yes," she smiled.

"Right. So the chemo isn't working. But they did the surgery and they did a lot of chemo and it made her _pretty sick_ — so why isn't it working? Because it should, rationally."

Bones was quiet for a minute, looking at him carefully. "I don't know. Maybe it needs to be observed for a greater length of time. Or maybe, while it appeared to be the rational course of action, there was in fact a better path. Your dad said they were changing her chemotherapy regimen."

"So, rationally, this one should work?"

"Parker, I don't deal well with hypotheticals and leaps of faith. If this is the right treatment, then yes, it will work. If not, the doctors need to keep trying. She's got a lot of doctors who care very much."

"What if this isn't the rational choice?"

"Well, then, they'll do surgery, Parker."

"What if that doesn't work?"

"You can't … you can't build a case on that many hypotheticals, Parker. That's not the way logic works; in fact, it is the opposite."

"No, I'm saying …" he trailed off, trying to find the right Bones-language. "Why did your mother die?"

"She died because she was in an altercation with a very nasty man and he hit her with a pole. She thought she was fine when she was in fact not, and she died of the injury several months later."

"But that's not a reason _why_."

"Parker…I don't view things as spiritually or overtly moral, nor do I profess to understand everything through logic. My personal philosophy is on everything having a reason, which, given enough time, can be discovered. I find that fact beautiful in its possibility. But perhaps you should talk to your father."

"No!" he said, a little louder than intended. "I mean … Dad always says 'it's part of God's plan, even if we don't know it yet.' But why would Mom getting this _sick_ be part of anyone's plan? He says the reason his mother died was so that he could eventually find you and Sophie and me but that doesn't make any _sense_."

"You're right. That's not the reason his mother died; she died in an auto accident caused by a drunk driver. If anything, his mother's death just caused severe guilt and even familial strife, which was very difficult for him to overcome. And my parents' departure put me into some very unpleasant situations, and left me alone at a crucial time in my social and intellectual development. Your father is a good and kind and honorable man, and everything did turn out acceptably for both of us, but it was very difficult in the beginnings."

"Right!" he said, glad Bones understood. "So his reasoning doesn't work. So I thought I'd try yours."

"I'm afraid mine isn't much more help, Parker. The only comfort and advice I can offer you is to live _now_, with the _facts_, and not to focus on the hypothetical situations. That doesn't help anyone. Does that help?"

It didn't, but he said that it did. His head was beginning to hurt again.

* * *

Love? Hate? How realistic of an 11-year-old is Parker? How are Booth, Brennan, and Becca?


	11. And all at once the crowd begins to sing

Hey all! Sorry for the delay in getting this up; school really creeped up on me, and that included a thesis chapter due date. The next bit also needed to be absolutely wrangled out of me, so let me know what you think. It covers a lot of grounds and lets a few more storylines unfold, but it does stray from the central drama. I'd LOVE to hit 100 reviews with this one, so PLEASE let me know what you think.

* * *

Like most Mondays, it was not a good morning for Seeley Booth. Parker had been a brat to get off to school, Shawna had been late and Bones had spent most of the morning on the phone with her agent and publicist trying to hash out the details of the publicity tour for her book (release date now March 3). They'd all barely made it to work or school on time.

And Rebecca's combination chemo/radiation had started up the week before, more intense than the last round. She was staying in the hospital for the next three weeks, and Parker was with them until it was all done. And Bec was being completely nonchalant about it all, which was just irritating. Last weekend, after thanking him for being so low-key over the past few weeks, she had told him, quite casually, that things hadn't improved, that they'd gotten worse. She said that they were going to try more aggressive protocols; that yes, they had already been pretty aggressive protocols. They had a deadline: If she hadn't begun to show improvement after another round, they'd go in, right after Thanksgiving, and do another surgery. Take out more lungs, more liver. _It's not like they were vital organs or anything_, Booth thought derisively. He was beginning to get concerned; plenty of people got cancer, beat cancer, but this was beginning to seem so … menacing.

His phone rang. "Deputy Director Booth, sorry to interrupt you," an apologetic voice began. "It's Rick, down in security, entrance 1A?"

"Yeah, what can I do for you, Rick?" he asked, tensing slightly.

"I've got a woman down her, uh, she says she's your wife's best friend. Angela Montenegro? She's got, quote, urgent business, unquote, but she doesn't have a current pass and isn't on the list. She says if I call you you'll send her up. She's quite persistent, too."

"Yeah, yeah, she's cool. Send her up," he said, wondering why Angela was choosing to visit today. She could hear her triumphant _told__ you _in the background.

He quickly signed off on a few reports while waiting for her, and flipped through a memo from an assistant detailing what new articles regarding the FBI had been published that morning. "Angela, to what do I owe this pleasure?" he said, as soon as she entered. "You have five minutes. I mean it." He snapped the article on the kiddie-porn ring out of Boston shut.

"Hello to you too, Studly," she said. He hadn't seen her in over two weeks — busy — and was slightly stunned at how _pregnant_ she looked. Bones hadn't been huge; while she had considered herself blobby, her stomach hadn't been really beach-bally. Angela's limbs seemed normal but her stomach was just … so big.

"When do these two make their arrival again?" he gestured toward the belly.

"December 17th, but Dr. Wasserman doubts I'll hold past the 5th. But speaking of birthdays," she sat down, tossing her bag into the next chair. "someone's got a big one coming up."

He grinned. "Five days. I can't believe it. She's turning _two_." That just seemed insane, that Sophia was turning _two_. He knew she was still young but it was crazy how quickly she was growing, learning, doing everything.

"Better believe it, mister," Angela grinned. "Bren said you two have a bit of a party planned?"

"Just really small, but yeah — us, Park, Hank, Michelle, Cam, Malcolm, your brood, Daisy, Sweets, Bones' family, my bro —"

"I think you should have Zack," Angela blurted out.

"Zack? Zack Addy? Bones' former assistant, Zack?"

"Yes. I just thought of it. Brennan's been a total stress-basket for weeks. Seeing Zack will help her."

"You are _kidding_ me, Angela. You have to be. You came all the way down here, while I'm working, to plot a jailbreak? He is _incarcerated_ at a maximum-security institution."

"So?"

"So? It's not like he's a teenager with a curfew. He's locked in."

"I talked to them. He's been there long enough that he can leave for up to eight hours as long as a law enforcement official supervises him the entire time. That's you! We don't even have to apply for one to be assigned. Come on, Booth. It's a family thing, you just said. Zack counts."

"Ange —"

"He's not dangerous, Booth, you know that."

"Actually, Ange, in the eyes of the law he is! He confessed to _killing_ someone, to eating his face off!"

"He's not an active threat! It's been _five_ years; even if he _was_ dangerous, which we all know he wasn't, he's reformed," she said. At his still-incredulous look, she said, "Come on. Think about how happy it'll make Bren."

"Do _not_ go there," he snapped. He and Bones had made up; things had been good, been normal for the last few weeks, but he was _not_ about to take Angela whining that he needed to pull a knight-in-shining-armor stunt to relieve _Bones'_ stress level. And he wasn't actually sure Bones would like this surprise. "He could only get out under special circumstances, and I'm guessing my job would be the necessary special circumstances, right?" Angela didn't say anything. "Look, Ange, Zack's never even met Sophia. And if we start saying that he's reformed, asking for more time out, you know what's going to happen? They'll re-evaluate him. Possibly move him to real prison. And that can't happen to the kid."

"Look, I know he always creeped you out a little, but Zack is the weird little brother that Brennan never had, and I was thinking, after she told me about this party, how much she would like it if he were there."

"Don't. You know that I would do anything for Bones. And I already have _begged_ for leniency on Zack for her. And yea, she loves Zack, but he makes her sad, too. This is Sophia's _birthday_ and I don't want Bones to be sad," he stopped. "What? Why are you smiling?"

"Nothing," Angela said. "It's just — you're a good husband. Either that, or emotionally manipulative. I can't tell right now."

"Gee, thanks," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Anyways, it was just an idea."

"Is that it? I have a meeting."

"Fine, fine. Yeah. Just consider it." They both knew the topic was closed, though.

"Ok, fine. And Ange? Seriously, next time just drop by after dinner." He shook his head. It was days that this that he missed Cam. He didn't know when he'd traded in his frat and sports buddies for so many female friendships, but they were damn exhausting. At least Cam was sane.

The meeting was pretty big: His office; the deputy director for National Security; Intelligence; White Collar; Counterterrorism; and the NSA had been collaborating for a while on new comprehensive threat screening and information synthesis, and had made some inroads, were better able to assess domestic terror threats. It was actually neat stuff, would really make a difference, and they'd had a good time putting it all together, thinking it through. And best of all, it was airtight with General Counsel. They were presenting it to the Director and NSA director, who would then take it to the President. He had a presentation to make and everything.

"Hey, Booth," Conrad, the DDNS, said as he entered — just a smidge late but ahead of the director, which was what counted. "How was the weekend?"

"Pretty good. Parker had his first hockey game of the season. Yours?"

He rolled his eyes. "Ashley came down for a weekend, brought the boyfriend. You're lucky your girl's still little, watch her before she grows up and starts dating slacker potheads with 'fantastic personalities,'" he threw up exaggerated air-quotes and rolled his eyes.

"Soph's turning two this weekend and I can barely believe it," he said, shaking his head before taking a seat.

"Good afternoon, Conrad, Booth, Breikovski," Director Hammersley said, nodding toward the two deputy directors and the intelligence directorate. "Let's get this show on the road, boys."

Sitting in the meeting, watching Conrad's portion of the presentation — about the better-integrated approach to stopping terror attacks — he was reminded, deep down, why he had taken this promotion; why, despite his ambivalence and discontent, it had been the right thing to do. Yeah, the uptightness made him itchy, yeah, he missed running the bad guys down, but he was _doing_ things. And, they were, objectively, important things. If he hadn't taken the promotions, he might've had a few more years in the field, but then he would have turned into one of those sad old guys who kept getting shafted for investigations and did mediocre, middle-level desk work.

This was better. The stuff he was doing now was saving people, fixing things, stopping bad stuff from happening, keeping the country safe, just in a different way. A bigger way. He was good at it. He knew it; everyone knew it. As an agent, he'd gotten complacent, routine; he could've, should've had promotions earlier but hadn't wanted to leave Bones. Now, he was better at his job than he had been previously.

And now the job didn't have to be all-consuming. He didn't need that any more. He had Bones, Sophia, Parker to be the things that defined his life, the very feeling that he'd wanted for years. He had no reason to atone anymore, should have grown past his old man and sniper years and all those times he couldn't protect Bones in the field. He slept easier at night, took work home more but carried it with him less. All things that would make Sweets happy. This was the rational, mature next step. But old habits died hard. And he missed the gun. And still didn't like so much paperwork. Or the politics. Or the damned Blackberry. He checked it again to see an update from Philadelphia on the privacy case and Miami on the gun smugglers.

"Booth, stay back for a sec," Hammersley called as the meeting was ending.

"How's it going, sir?" he asked as the crowd petered out.

Hammersley did a little smirk-smile, then said, "Good work on this stuff, Booth. Someone had to have prodded White Collar into producing legitimate ideas, and it sure as hell wasn't Manson."

"He's solid. Good at getting things done."

"Yeah, yeah. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something. I just got a call from Senator Stone; the Judiciary Committee just passed a resolution for a blue-ribbon panel on criminal-justice reform. We're talking _big_ — financial, ethical, legal. They think something's screwed in the system, they want it fixed."

"Do you think something's screwed up in the system?" Personally, Booth thought criminals should be behind bars. Heretical, he knew.

"I think that's what you're going to tell me. Listen, the president's new, he's a Democrat, I could see him picking this issue up so he'd look tougher. Check with your Army buddy and see if the House is going to pass it; if there is — and Stone and I see it — there's a good chance the president will commission a look. And if he does, you're the vice-chairman."

"I am?" Jesus Christ, another task force? He had to be frigging kidding.

"Yeah, I told Stone to pencil your name in. It'll probably start in the new year; have maybe 18 months to look into the issue. Blue-ribbon commissions are huge; they're not your ordinary task force. You can handle this, right? We need you there, your expertise."

_What you need is my title_, Booth thought.

"New year? Shouldn't be too much of a problem," is what he said.

"Great. Knew you were my man, Booth." With that, the director left for his extremely important meetings.

As soon as he was out of the meeting with Major Crimes, he gave Michael a call, dialing his cell to avoid talking to Catharine, his militant scheduler. After a few minutes shooting the shit and talking about their wives, he cleared his throat and said, "Listen, I'm actually calling about a bit of business. Hammersley just got a call from Stone about the Senate Judiciary calling for a blue ribbon to look into the criminal justice system. I was just wondering what you'd heard about it."

"Yeah, it's going to happen. We had a meeting yesterday; it came up. Stone's asked Maloney to sponsor in the House. The White House has already reached out to him. It's going to happen. Why? You on it?"

"Yeah," he said, "or so I've heard."

"It's going to be doing really interesting, potentially groundbreaking stuff. Reforming the way we look at criminal justice. Gonna be a lot of fun, Seel."

"Sounds like it, Mikey," he said. Great. "Good talking to you. Give me a call when Nicky and Cassandra are in town; we'll get everyone together."

He actually beat Bones home that night, which meant he got to pick dinner. Parker, after the carpool dropped him off from hockey, campaigned hard for spaghetti and meatballs, reasoning that it was easy and delicious. He was chopping vegetables to add to his special sauce recipe, passed down by Hank, when Bones walked in.

"Oooh, what's for dinner?" she asked, wrapping her cold hands around him and peeking over his shoulder. She hadn't even taken off her coat.

"Really, truly, how can your hands be so cold all the time?" he teased, clasping them and turning around to kiss her. "Spaghetti and vegetable sauce, meatballs on the side for me and Parker. How was your day? Did you get the book tour worked out?"

"Yes, I should only have to be traveling for 10 days. About the book, actually," she said, reaching for a bottle of red wine and pouring herself a glass. "Do you want any?" she asked, finally removing her trench.

"Wine? No, I'm good."

"Okay. Anyways, the book. My publisher started talking about adding another two Kathy Reichs books to my contract."

"Re-negotiating the advances?" he asked, tossing some peppers in.

"Actually, I'm strongly considering suspending the series indefinitely after book 10."

He stopped stirring the pasta. "Really?" he asked. "Are you sure?" Bones rarely announced a decision before making it, which meant she wasn't writing any more.

"No," she said, taking another sip of the wine. "Not at all, actually. I like writing too much. But my original motivation no longer exists. I'm going to make a salad."

"Why _did_ you start writing in the first place?" he asked, realizing that he didn't know. They'd worked one case, the book had come out, they'd become partners. She'd been writing them on the side as long as he knew her.

"A way to utilize my time not spent in the lab," she said. "But now I'm barely in the lab. And there's you. And Sophia. And Parker. And the museum. You see?"

"Yeah, but I know you love writing the books."

"It's turned into too much work, now." She shook her head. "It's not fun; I'd rather be spending the time with you, Sophia, and Parker, or completing my work for the museum, or in the lab doing research. I _miss_ research. I wasn't in the lab at _all_ last week." That wasn't good. Bones got a little stir-crazy when she didn't have her bones. "I love the books, but I love other things more. We have royalties and residuals, which, considering that I still have three books to release, should be fairly substantial for the next few years."

"Bones, the books aren't about the money. You know I could care less about that."

"I know, but they do afford us a particular lifestyle. It factors into the decision. We'll be less financially secure."

"Bones, those payments have been going to charities and investments for years. And I already think this house is ridiculous. If you want to keep writing, do it. Don't feel pressured, though."

"I don't. The books require 15-20 hours a week. I could be identifying remains or playing with Sophia or having sex with you," he choked a little on his water and grinned. "It's time."

"Alright." He'd been right, the decision was pre-made. "Are you planning on sending Kathy and Andy out with a bang?" he smiled.

"I haven't really thought about the last book's plot, though I suppose it would be fitting for them to get engaged or married. That's the kind of thing Bianca keeps telling me fans like. It's the conventional twist on an ending."

He smirked. "Yeah, I think people would like that," he said. "Everyone likes a happy ending."

Saturday morning, the day of Sophia's actual birthday, he awoke to Bones pressing kisses into his shoulder and jaw. "Good morning," she said, dragging her tongue along his collarbone. "I see you're … _up_." She ghosted her fingers along his pelvic bone, inching toward his morning wood.

"Helluva wake-up call, Bones," he muttered, flipping her under him and pressing his body against hers.

"I'm trying to be more spontaneous," she said breathily as he pushed her dusty-pink nightgown up around her breasts to nuzzle her stomach. That was a damn lie. Bones _loved_ morning sex.

"Yeah, right," he said, shucking her panties. As he delved in, he could feel her writhing to completely remove the nightgown. After a few minutes — where she came pretty damn close to the edge, thankyouverymuch — she pulled him up, deftly pushing down his boxers and pajama pants before turning him over and lowering herself onto him. Nice.

"You like?" she murmured with a teasing smile. She knew the answer already. She placed her lips on that one spot on his neck that she'd discovered probably their second night together, and he held back a moan.

"Hell yeah, Bones. Hell yeah I like."

Somehow — and, this, more than anything else, Booth took as a sign there was a God — they were early risers with late sleepers for children. They had over an hour together before they heard Sophia talking to her stuffed animals, and Parker wouldn't be up until 10 if he could help it.

"Let's go get the birthday girl," Booth said, tossing Bones her off-white bathrobe as she pulled her nightgown back on.

"You still want to do your pancake ritual, right?" Bones asked as they pushed open Soph's door and peeked around the corner.

"Tradition, not ritual, Bones, you know the difference," he said as Sophia, standing up in her crib, yelled, "Mama! Daddy!"

"Good _morning_, baby girl!" Bones gasped as she picked her up and nuzzled the little girl's neck. "Do you remember what today is?"

"Weekend?" Sophia asked. Booth grinned. She was _so_ smart. Even at just-now-two, she knew what it meant when Mommy and Daddy wore pajamas instead of suits to wake her up.

"That too," Booth said, "But today is your _birthday_. Two years ago, after 16 _very_ long hours of labor, you were born."

"Born?" Oh shit.

As he was trying to figure out an age-appropriate, non-graphic answer, Bones jumped in. "A birthday's just a day when everyone remembers how special you are. You only get one a year, though."

"And that means you're getting _presents_," Booth said. That had been a very good explanation from Bones.

"And Aunt Angela, Uncle Jack, Uncle Russ, Grandpa Hank, and Grandpa Max are all coming over," Bones added.

"And Parker?"

"Of course Parker, he's your brother," Bones said. "Do you need to urinate, Sophia?"

"Yes, please," Sophia said, leading the way to the bathroom with Blue, her stuffed dolphin, in tow.

"Do you want to start pancakes? I'll handle this," Bones said.

"Sure thing," he said. On his way downstairs, he popped his head into Parker's room. "Park, don't forget, pancakes and bacon for Sophia's birthday today. Get up soon, bud."

Parker rolled over and cracked one eye open to look at the digital clock. "Dad? It's _barely_ 8:30."

"Sister. Birthday. Up in a half hour, bub. I'm gonna need your help." He ducked as Parker launched a pillow at him, and shut the door on his way downstairs.

He started mixing up the pancake batter, mashing in the banana and adding walnuts to half (for Bones and Parker) and chocolate chips to half (for Sophia and him). Bones, still barefoot in her nightgown, brought Sophia down as the first batch was coming off the griddle. The outfit showed signs of cooperation between mother and daughter: Sophia wore a pumpkin-colored T-shirt, brown corduroy skirt and white cardigan (Bones' choices), but tights with a fall-leaf print, orange clogs, and a bright-orange baseball cap that he'd seen at Gap and thought was funny (all Sophia).

"I see we had a successful clothing negotiation this morning," he grinned, leaning over to kiss Bones as she grabbed the carafes of orange juice and 2-percent milk from the fridge.

"I've learned the benefits of compromise," she acknowledged. "Parker still asleep?"

"Yeah, can you grab him?"

A few minutes later, a sleepy Parker and a self-satisfied Bones reappeared. "You know, it'll be her birthday for another 15 hours. We could have done this in like an hour, you know." Still, he kissed the top of Soph's head and wished her a happy birthday.

"You wanna handle the bacon, bub?" he asked, waggling the spatula, which Park took with a grin. Bones popped her iPod into the iHome, twisted it to one of her indie chick artists (Lenka, maybe) that he didn't actually mind too much, and sat down to color with Sophia. Perfect morning.

The big gift for Sophia was a toddler bed and after breakfast, Bones took Sophia to meet Angela and Talia at the park while he and Parker got started on the surprise. The sleigh-style bed was beautiful and easier than expected to assemble, and he even managed to figure out how to get the blue-and-purple linens on the bed. Then it was the zoo (for the _third time_ in a month. Not that he minded) with the Hodgins family for a special behind-the-scenes tour Bones had arranged (the Zoo was part of the Jeff, after all) before all coming back for an early dinner.

They were only home for a few minutes before the house began to fill: First Jared and Dylan (who now was definitively moving to D.C. with him) arrived with Pops, who set Sophia on his knee and proceeded to have a Very Serious and Important Conversation with her; then Michelle dropped in; the nanny stopped by for 20 minutes to drop off a gift; then Malcolm and Cam pulled up; then Sweets and Daisy arrived with a _truckload_ of presents; finally, Russ, Amy, their kids, and Max showed up. Max quickly joined Hank in keeping Sophia occupied, and her peals of laughter reverberated throughout the first floor.

Bones and the rest of the women headed into the kitchen, while he and the guys turned on a game and watched the toddlers play with Asta as Emma, Hayley, and Parker headed outside. Getting up to grab a beer, he paused in the doorway to drink in the scene. Angela was brightly discussing real estate with Dylan, who wanted a condo in Dupont or on Capitol Hill South. Daisy and Michelle had apparently commandeered the cooking process and Bones sat with her nephew on her lap, talking animatedly to Amy and sometimes interjecting into Dylan and Angela's conversation.

"Seeley," Cam said, sidling up beside him and surprising him. "Decision time. In or out of the room."

"Don't scare me like that, Camille," he replied. "I just came in here for a beer." He moved toward the fridge, squeezing Bones' shoulder as he passed. "How've you been? Malcolm treating you alright?"

"No, he's completely awful and keeps me locked up in a tower and only feeds me bread and water. Seriously, Seeley?" she laughed. "We're wonderful. What about you, though? How's Rebecca? Sweets said she's on a new regimen and in the hospital for combination therapy."

"Yeah, the cancer actually grew over the last treatment. They're not sure how. Bones talked to the doctor about the new stuff, and she says it's pretty aggressive." He looked around, at everyone all happy, and turned to her, "Do you think Zack should be here? Angela came down to my office this week to harass me about it."

Cam just kind of looked at him with that patented Yes-it's-official-all-my-friends-are-morons look. "Oh, no. No, no, no."

"What?" he asked.

"I am not getting in the middle of this. If Brennan tells Angela then she'll come to you, and my name will somehow come up, and suddenly I'm the mean one."

"Oh, so it _was_ the wrong decision?"

"I didn't say that," Cam said patiently. "It was a decision; I don't see a right or wrong answer. This day is about Sophia, and you and Brennan, and she didn't bring up inviting him, either. You don't need Sweets' degrees to know that she sees not catching Zack as one of her biggest regrets."

"Okay, good."

"Not quite. How have you and Brennan been? Angela said she went to Atlanta?"

He sighed. "It was a month ago. We got into it on our anniversary getaway and we needed a timeout so she went to Atlanta a bit early. It wasn't anything permanent, we were just exhausted."

Cam looked at him sympathetically. "You really aren't dealing well with Rebecca, are you, big man?"

He set his jaw carefully. "We don't know what we're dealing with with Bec. I guess I was overreacting a bit too, according to both of 'em. We needed some time apart. But Bones and I are in it for the long haul. Sometimes we're going to piss each other off."

"And you fixed things?"

"Yeah, we talked."

"And things have changed?"

"Of course they have."

He fully expected her to retort with _That's not an answer Seeley_, but she just finally said, "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah."

"That's it?"

"Sorry, I'll just poke my nose around in here where it doesn't belong."

"It's just not the reaction I was expecting."

"Seeley. You and Brennan are both full-fledged adults now. You are married. You have a house and a daughter and she's pretty involved with Parker. Nothing I say could be a bigger incentive to play nice and be honest and be careful than those things. You chose these stakes, with someone with whom the stakes were already unbelievably high."

"Thanks, Cam," he said, unsure whether or not he was being sarcastic.

"You're welcome," she said enigmatically, before wandering off to find Malcolm.

They sat down for dinner shortly after that, Sophia in the seat of honor and him and Bones on either side of her. They'd made all her favorite foods — sliced apples and pears; mac'n'cheese; mashed potatoes; chicken fingers; tofu; chickpea-and-feta salad. Sophia and Bones had an extremely serious conversation about whether or not tofu would taste good in the mashed potatoes. Grinning, he turned to Pops and Parker, who were sitting to his left debating Caps vs. Flyers. They tried to drag him and then Bones in; he resisted while Bones somehow ended up a Caps fan. He tried to pay attention and see if Pops' dementia had gotten worse since September; it _seemed_ okay but he couldn't really tell.

And then it was time for cake. Bones got Sophia to blow out the '2' candle on her own, and the toddler seemed mystified that the cake was _hers_. "My cake? Mine? For birthday?"" she kept repeating. And then she'd go through the featured animals: "Panda! Gee-raffe! Lion! Tiger! Snake!"

"She's so _verbal_, Temperance, what's your secret?" Dylan, who had never met Sophia, said. Dylan was tan, with long, perfectly blown-out brown hair. She was a bit shallow, but she was kind.

Bones shrugged. "Given her probable IQ, the amount of reading that we do together, and the fact that we don't infantilize her, it's really not that unexpected. A bit unusual, but not unexpected." Bones smiled. "What's that one, Sophia?"

"Rhino?"

"Hippo," Bones said as Booth sliced the hippos head off and passed it to Sweets. "Rhinoceroses have horns, whereas hippopotami swim. They also have a different number of toes, which unfortunately we can't observe right now."

"El-phant!" Sophia pointed.

"Good!"

"Her verbal skills are actually highly unusual," he heard Sweets explain to Dylan. "Joe turned 3 in September, and Sophia's perfectly able to have a conversation with him at his verbal level. And Joe's _highly_ intelligent. Talia, who isn't two until May, has a vocabulary of a 26-month-old. All three have advanced motor- and problem-solving skills, too."

"Sweets, you're not running tests on my kid when you say you're just playing, are you?" Booth asked. He could see Angela looking a little appalled behind Sweets, as well.

Sweets' eyes widened and he visibly swallowed. "No. No, of course I'm not."

"Bunch of baby Einsteins and real Einsteins, babe," Jared said.

"I'm already doing two-variable algebra," Parker added proudly. "That means it's got x's and y's."

Dylan laughed. "I don't think I did that until my second year of high school."

"Oh," Parker said, unsure of what to say next. "It's really not that hard. Bones taught it to me in an afternoon. It probably wasn't your fault. Did you go to public school? I'm switching to private school cause of that."

"Parker has an aptitude for numbers and loves science," Bones cut in.

"What do you want to be when you grow up, Parker?" Dylan asked politely.

He shrugged. "I don't know. Something cool, like a CIA Agent. Maybe an astronaut. Dad and Bones say they're basically badass scientists. Or…"

"Language, Parker." Booth interjected. Parker's fondness for _ass_ and _shit_ was becoming a very long and tiring phase.

"Sorry," he rolled his eyes. "Or a doctor."

Bones furrowed her brow. "That one's new."

"Yeah," Parker tapped his fork against his plate. "Can Sophie open her presents now?"

"I think that's a great idea," Booth said. "Let's get this table cleared."

Sophia made out like a bandit. First, Dylan and Jared got her purple Ugg boots, which made Bones wrinkle her nose in confusion, and a Juicy Couture tracksuit. Angela and Hodgins gave fingerpaints, watercolors and an easel — "Don't worry, Bren, just spread some butcher paper under the table and have her play in the basement" — as well as several puzzles.

"I wanted to get her a guinea pig but Angie said next year," Hodgins said, grinning.

"Can I have a guinea pig?" Parker asked.

"No, you have a dog," Booth said quickly. "And those things reek."

Cam, Malcolm, and Michelle gave her a half-dozen dresses from Bonpoint and two coats from Crewcuts — a purple peacoat with silver lining and a camel-colored toggle coat with attached mittens. Cam had a thing about spoiling the younger kids. Both stores were way to chi-chi for him, but Bones loved them, and gushed appropriately.

Next up was a very small player piano from Russ and Amy's family, and then a gorgeous, crocheted, blue-and-white blanket from Max. Bones stared at it in shock.

"Where did you _find_ this, Dad?"

"Relax, Tempe. Your Mom and I did take some things. We were afraid that you might get split up, you know. Your mother always intended to give it to your first daughter."

"Family heirloom?" Booth asked tentatively, wondering if they were going to see another Max-Temperance showdown.

"My mother knitted it for me when she was pregnant. What else do you have, Dad?"

"Relax, honey. Some keepsakes, from your mother."

"Like what?"

"Some jewelry of hers. Photos of her family. Stuff like that. We'll discuss this later, promise."

Bones eyed him uneasily before saying, "We haven't had Hank yet, right, or Sweets and Daisy?"

"Mine can be next," Pops said quickly. "Homemade. My woodworking class helped."

"You're taking woodworking, Pops?" That sounded dangerous.

"Yep, shrimp, I do." He pointed to an _extremely_ large box. "It's that one."

He and Bones pulled the wrapping down, opened the box. "Wow," he said, looking in. "Is this —"

"It's a dollhouse," Hank said. "They have these kits."

"How do we get it out?" Bones asked, staring at the roof.

"Got it," Booth said, "Park, your pocketknife?"

They cut down the box so the flaps fell away, revealing a gorgeous, three-story Victorian dollhouse, painted robin's-egg blue. There was a wraparound porch in front, intricate gingerbread-ish trim, roof stuff like turrets, and individual shingles on the roof. The back of the house cut open to show off the rooms inside.

"This is _gorgeous_, Hank," Angela raved.

"They make these kits," he repeated happily. "You just glue 'em together and paint. We're going around making them for all the guys' granddaughters."

"Thank you," Bones said, going round to hug Hank by wrapping her arms around his chest from behind. "It's lovely."

"Mine?" Sophia said uncertainly.

"Yeah, kitten, all yours." Booth smiled.

Sweets and Daisy got her a lot of stuffed animals — designed with the correct fur color — as well as a small library of books that she wouldn't be able to read for a while.

"All mine too?" Sophia checked.

"Yep, baby girl," Bones said. "Now it's time for Mommy and Daddy and Parker's gift, which is up in your bedroom. Would you like to show your guests there?"

They followed Sophia as she gave a rambling, impromptu tour of the house: "This is TV. This is stairs. This is wall. This is floor. This is Asta!" She chased the dog, and Bones chased her before they were back on track. "This Mommy's and Daddy's room. This Parker's. This mine!"

"Let's open the door, Sophia," Bones said, taking her hand and turning the knob. "Do you see anything new?"

"Whoa," Sophia breathed. She turned to Mom and Dad. "No crib."

"No. We got a big-girl bed," Booth said. "Remember when you said you were a big girl?"

"Yesterday?" she questioned. Everything was 'yesterday' for Sophia.

"Yeah. So we got you a big-girl bed."

"Mine?" she pointed. "My room."

"Yep. All yours."

"Whoa," she said again, poking the bed.

"Can you say thank you to everyone who gave you things, Sophia? It's customary." Bones said. That was another thing about Bones: She'd be damned to raise a rude child.

"Wait! I got something." Parker said. "Dad helped me, too." He ran over to her dresser and pulled a rectangular package out of it. Booth smiled. Parker had come up with this gift, all on his own. Booth thought it was great.

Bones looked at the package curiously, mouthed "shoes?" and then put the box in Sophia's lap to help her open it.

"This is only part of it," Parker said. "I'll explain the rest though."

The two tore the paper off and pulled the lid off the box, revealing a pair of pristine white leather figure skates. "Ice?" Sophia asked, reaching toward the blade.

"Shh, careful baby girl, they're sharp," Bones said, quickly pulling her finger away. "Parker, they're lovely, but she's a little young."

"They're a little big so she has to grow a little first anyways. But I wanna teach her how to skate. That's the gift."

"You want to teach her?"

"Yeah. Well, really I wanna teach her hockey, but dad says girls like figure skating better. But I'll get her to switch later." The adults in the room laughed.

"Thank you, Parker, this was exceptionally thoughtful," Bones said, running her finger down the shiny blade lightly.

Pretty soon the guests started to trickle out — first Russ had to get the girls home for school, meaning that Bones couldn't get into it with her Dad (which left her a little mad); and then Joe and Talia zonked out and Angela started to feel exhausted so they peaced; then Jared and Dylan started worrying about getting Gramps back so they left. Michelle had things at school and Cam and Malcolm took her back; Sweets and Daisy had some wedding stuff to take care of. Parker wanted to go visit Becca, so the two of them popped over to GWU before coming home. And then suddenly it was 9 p.m. and it was just the two of them, cuddled on the couch.

"Hey, Bones?" he asked, sifting his fingers through her hair.

"Mmm-hmm?" she replied, lazily flipping a page in her journal.

"Angela — she came to me earlier this week. She wanted to invite Zack along. She thought it would make it less stressful for you. I said no. I just … I wanted to know what you think. And if I need to apologize."

She was quiet for a minute. "Why did you say no?" she asked.

He paused for a while. "I thought it would make you upset, I guess. You haven't visited him in months," he said finally. "And it was Sophia's day."

"He's never met Sophia face to face, so it made little rational sense. And I don't visit him frequently because I, unlike Angela and Hodgins, have a time-intensive job. I do pay for his subscriptions to several expensive journals," she said mildly. "How would he have gotten out?"

"There are … ways, Bones. At least, hypothetically, there are ways," he swallowed. Bones _loved _doing things like pretending to slip $20s to hostesses and was basically ginning the system so their kids would get a better education."

"Angela wanted you to intimidate some lower-level cop and make them let you take Zack based on the prestige of your job title?"

"Basically."

She considered that before speaking. "I would not have been sad, exactly, at seeing Zack. I do miss him. There are some days that thinking about how I didn't help him makes me very … disappointed in myself, but I'm able to remember that he was still a good person. But if I knew that you had to grease the truck — "

"Wheels, Bones.".

"Wheels, then. If I knew you had to grease the wheels, which I know you don't like to do but you would do it for me, the fact that you would do it for me nonetheless would make me very sad." She looked at him with her wide eyes.

Well alright then. It didn't feel exactly comfortable or right, so he just leaned forward and kissed her gently.


	12. To Be Cut Adrift

Hey guys! Apologies for the wait, and the brevity of this chapter. School has really been kicking my ass lately, but I hope there's still interest in this story! I struggled a lot with this chapter, and with the decision to write and complete this chapter. It revolves around two characters (Brent and Becca) that are only shadows in the show, and whose presence in this story is felt mainly in their absences than their actions. Plus, a lot of what is happening in this chapter has to do with what _isn't_ being said, and that's a difficult feeling to convey with characters that are intentionally left only sketched-out. But hopefully the contrast to Becca's previous chapter is enough to push the story and her story forward in interesting ways. I have really enjoyed creating Becca, particularly trying to figure out what traits she has in common with Bones/Cam (because everyone's got a type) and what traits of her would have made her a romantic interest for Booth in the first place. As always, read and review, and I promise I'll respond this time through. Lyrics from Bloc Party's "This Modern Love."

* * *

Rebecca had vivid dreams of her death nightly. They had lurid, grotesque color schemes, a Poe short story sprung to life. She never died of cancer, though — it was always something infinitely more violent, like something in a Frida Kahlo painting, something involving macabre instruments and Chinese water torture and falls from incredible heights.

The first one left her so shaken that when Brent came with his Egg McMuffin to eat breakfast with her, she was so distracted that he weaseled it out of her. "I had a dream last night," she started. "It was all reds and greens and I was on an acupuncture table, except instead of needles they used machetes. The knives went all the way through my body and then they left me on the table and I died."

His amber eyes had opened wide, and he put one hand on her cheek and the other on her bicep. "Don't, Bec," he said. "Okay? Don't give up. That'd be stupid. Okay? This is a month. This is nothing."

She put her hand over his, stroking his hand lightly with her thumb. "I know. It just happened."

The next night she was on a surgical table, with Booth's clown friend Sweets acting as doctor and Lisa acting as nurse, having her liver methodically cut into Lucky Charms shapes.

The combination therapy was not bad, just tiring. She woke up tired and somehow, by just sitting in wheelchairs and armchairs and sometimes standing for radiation, she managed to become more tired. There were three other women about her age getting the treatment, and before long, they were practically a suburban bridge club. Marianne was 42, a mother of three, stepmother to two, and Parker and her son Grady got along whenever they bumped into each other. Catharine was taking a hiatus from her job as chief of staff to an Oregon congressman. She and her partner, Melanie, had been together for 15 years but didn't have children. Heidi was the youngest, just 32 and with brain cancer, and a brand-new baby. She'd waited to get treated until he was born, and the doctors had made it abundantly clear it would probably cost her her own life. Her doctors were kind of jackasses. Heidi was a psychiatrist, and was trying to turn cancer into something meaningful and fulfilling. It made Rebecca sad.

Parker visited five or six times a week — he was staying permanently with Seeley, because it was just easier. And even though he often stayed for an hour or two, and would call her after school almost every day, she could feel him pulling away a little bit. It was nearly impossibly to detect; it was in the way he stayed in the armchair most of the time and how he used the future tense to describe actions with almost everyone else in his life — he _was going to teach_ Sophia how to ice skate, Bones _promised to take him to South America next time she had to go for work_, he and Seeley _were already arguing_ about how many Nats games they could go to this summer — but not with her. It was a million other tiny, insignificant, crucially important things.

She didn't know what to make of it. Part of her couldn't bear it. But part of her felt that it was OK. After all, if she did die (which wasn't going to happen) it would be easier on him; when she got out of the woods, he could finally exhale and they'd go back to normal. She didn't want to push him.

The time passed rapidly. She lost weight nearly every day. She lost her hair. Sometimes, if she stared in the mirror long enough, she began to trick herself into thinking things, like Bald is Beautiful, and that there was a certain incredible strength and elegance in the chemo look. She read a lot, too, mostly crappy chick lit and books like _To Kill a Mockingbird,_ which she hadn't read in years. Brent got her the magazines she was missing all the time. Seeley tried to bring her Catholic books on faith and dying and disease, but she yelled at him. He then tried slipping her books that had undoubtedly come from the smirky crank shrink, and she passed those on to Heidi.

The treatment was finally, mercifully done, on November 10th. She was given a few days to recover at home, then rounds of tests, then Decision Time. She knew that if it hadn't improved, she'd go in for more surgery right after Thanksgiving. But it was absurd; it simply had to get better. There was no possible way she had offended the cosmos enough for that not to happen. Parker skipped hockey practice to escort her home, and he and Brent had hung a "Welcome Home" banner over the kitchen table. They had Seeley, Temperance, Sophia, Lisa, Sarah, and their families over for a little carrot cake, and then she had to take a short nap.

The short nap, of course, turned into a 10-hour sleep, and when she awoke she found Brent, in flannel pants and a tee, sitting up in bed next to her on a new laptop.

"When'd you get _that_?" she accused sleepily, running her fingers up his arm. Brent hated computers and thought Parker's laptop was an absolute nuisance; they had a desktop in the nook off the kitchen but that was it.

"I bought it a few weeks ago — I wanted something I could use up here," he said, still clicking away.

"Whatcha use it for?" she asked, trying to sit up a little.

He finally snapped it shut and put it on the floor next to the bed. "There are … support groups, online. For cancer spouses. And researching the treatments and everything."

"Support groups?" she said, her jaw opening slightly. The doctor had mentioned them but she found the idea ridiculous. "What, to like, bitch about this?"

"No, not at all," he said. "Well, to air out the emotions. To _talk_ about the emotions, everything. How to … be supportive. And what to expect."

She carefully thought back over Brent's behavior. He'd been great at first, then a little distant, but mostly he'd just been quietly, unfailingly supportive. "You know, you can talk to me," she said.

"Babe, that's the thing. They're just going through the same thing. And right now, you're the sick one. How you feel takes precedence, and I want to be there for you. These people are there to help me with that, and also for my concerns. What I'm concerned about shouldn't concern you — you don't need the extra stress."

"What are you concerned about? I'm going to beat this, you know." It was fact.

"Babe, come on, you're dreaming about your death. In _really freaky_ dreams. And yeah, I want you to beat it, but at this point … I'm just scared that you might not." He looked at her hesitantly, like he was afraid to express the thought, and it just made her angrier.

"That's _ridiculous_, Brent, because I _am going to_."

"That's a great attitude for you to have. I want you to have that attitude. I have that attitude, most days. It hurts not to. And the groups are mostly just how to be supportive. What tricks might help you. Remember the whole flavored ginger ale that helped your nausea when you were on that one med? I got that tip from these groups."

It quelled her anger somewhat, but she finished with, "Please just talk to me, alright? About anything. I don't like feeling like you're keeping things from me right now. And I _will_ beat this. I know I will."

"I know too," he said, leaning forward lightly to kiss her lips.

But she wrote in her journal to Parker for almost five hours the next day.

She was fine for the next week, but one Wednesday when she was supposed to drive Parker to school she woke up with a cough. When Brent woke her up when he came home from work that evening, he noticed she was burning up — something that was _absolutely _not supposed to happen under her cocktail of immune-system-suppressing drugs. He rushed her into the car so quickly she barely had the presence of mind to grab her phone to call Seeley and have him pick up Parker from hockey.

Three hours later, she was back in her old hospital room (probably in her old gown), when Dr. Nixon came in. "Rebecca, sit up, please, we need to talk," he said gently.

"That doesn't sound good," she said weakly, and Brent crossed to sit by her.

"First, we need to talk about your test results from earlier this week. I'm — I'm very sorry, but they show no significantly decreased level of mets or other markers. Most worrisome, there's no decrease in your lungs or liver."

"Shit," Brent muttered.

"So, surgery?" she asked. "Can we wait until after Thanksgiving, at least?" She had promised Parker the holiday.

"We have to," he said, and he didn't sound happy. "It appears that you've got a nice case of pneumonia, and we can't operate when you've got that. Most likely, you picked it up after being in a sterilized environment for so long and then going back into the real world."

"So you're saying the combination therapy actually made me _sicker_?" she said. This was ridiculous. "Do you know anything, honestly? Where did you get your MD?"

"Stanford," he said patiently. "Believe me, I know this is frustrating. But we've got to focus on one thing at a time. We'll kick this pneumonia, then we'll have the surgery, OK?"

She pursed her lips and shook her head, and finally said, "Fine. That sounds fine."

"I'm very sorry, Rebecca, but don't give up hope yet," Dr. Nixon said, squeezing her bicep lightly before leaving the room.

She sighed and threw her head back, feeling reckless and despondent at his news. "Can you call Seeley, please?" she asked, playing with the IV cannulas attached to her arm. "We should talk about Parker and … things." The words tasted foreign in her mouth. The thoughts that had swarmed her brain felt foreign in her head.

But Brent was pacing agitatedly. "Actually, can we talk about _this_ first?" he hissed.

"What's there to talk about?" she yelled. "Those are facts!"

"Let's start with how you're _feeling_, Bex," he yelled, throwing wide his hands. "Because that doctor basically said you're one step closer to dying!"

"Will you _stop_ saying that!" she yelled, then pursed her lips desperately. "I don't want to seem like I'm ignoring the problems here, but let's not go nuts, Brent! Let's not think like that!"

"We've _got _to, Becca!" he yelled. "Because I _can't_ lose you, and you're rapidly getting _less_ and _less _of a vote in the matter!"

"Do you _think_ I'm going to die?" she shouted. "Do you just sit there and think, 'she's going to die soon?' Do you like that?"

"God, I don't _like_ it, Becca, but yeah, I think you are. I think you're dying, and I think you don't want to acknowledge it. And I_ need_ you too. Can't you _get_ that?" With that, he kicked the wall and stormed out.

She sighed, and picked up her cell phone to text Seeley. Forty-five minutes later, when he arrived, Brent still had not shown up.

"Oh hey," she said, turning and sitting up as he walked in. She ran her thumbs under her eyes.

"What's — is everything ok?" he asked cautiously.

"Yeah. Of course."

"It's just — you've been crying."

"Oh," she said, finally noticing the dampness on her thumbpads.

"What's wrong?" he asked, in that goddamned patented Perfect Seeley voice, and she felt righteous indignation swell inside her.

"Seeley. You have two roles in my life: Father of my child and meddling ex-boyfriend. In neither of those job descriptions does it say therapist. I have plenty of those."

"Ok," he said, sounding genuinely confused. "Then why did I get a text saying I should stop by on my way back from work?"

She took a breath. She needed — _needed_, for her own sake — to get through this without breaking down. Seeley was already again everywhere in her life, and she needed distance for clarity. "The tests showed — the last round didn't go well, Seeley. At all, really. There's … there's going to be more … surgery… and things. But first, I have pneumonia. And they need … they need that to clear up. So we're waiting."

"What? Bec, okay, you know what you've got to do? You've got to stand up and demand more treatment. You can't let this kick your ass, dammit. You can't."

"I won't," she snapped. "That isn't what I wanted to talk to you about. Again, you don't have a say in that," she paused to have a coughing fit, and Seeley spun so he was in front of her.

"Quit being so _territorial_, Bex, and let me help. Where's Brent?" he pleaded. She sighed. He just really, really didn't get it some days.

"He's out," she said, holding up a hand. "There aren't that many courses we can take until the pneumonia clears up, when we have a meeting then I'll let you know. I swear. What I needed to talk to you about … What I needed to talk to you about is Parker." She prayed that she could have a rational, honest conversation with him. Brent was all sputtering and emotional right now, and she just really, really needed Seeley to focus on the task and let her get through that, so that her mind would be at ease.

"What about Parker?" he cocked his head and squinted his eyes.

"Just as a precaution," she started, "I'm going to have the lawyer who wrote up the wills make sure that everything's airtight — assets, inheritance, his college funds." It wasn't much and it wasn't like what Temperance had bequeathed him in a fit of benevolence right before she and Seeley married, but it was something and it was hers. "I'm going to make sure that if anything happens to him, everything's taken care of." It was time. It was really, really time.

"Bec —"

"It's not time for the big type of conversation, Seeley," she said firmly. "I — just not yet. Please?"

He saw something in her eyes, and he finally relented. "Alright," he said. "Let me know if you need any paperwork or a signature or something."

He left, and Brent finally, finally came back, forty-five minutes later, after she had had more than enough time to think. He looked abashed, and sat down on the bed next to her. But before he could say anything, she shook her head quickly, then opened her mouth. "I'm scared," she said, finally, shakily. She collapsed back onto the bed, trying very hard, and mostly failing, at keeping her composure. "I'm really scared, too."


	13. We don't bleed when we don't fight

Hey! I know what you're thinking — this story's still around? Jo hasn't completely defected to _Chuck?_ I should still care about this old thing? The answers are yes, no, and Jo certainly hopes so.

My apologies for the delay on this. I fully plan on continuing it, but it's a behemoth. And, between school/life/my new job, it's been a busy few months. I have the next several chapters plotted out, though, so hopefully the wait won't be too long. This chapter was also kind of ridiculously tough to write (more on that later). I have to confess, though, I have another reason it took so long: I started to seriously dislike the direction _Bones_ the show is taking. It's hard to take inspiration from a show that doesn't seem to feature the same characters you once loved. I'm not sure I'll be watching next season. Then again, this went very seriously AU after season 4, so I'm trying to remember the good things and work from that.

Now, This Chapter. It's HUGE. With all caps. However, it's so huge, so pivotal, in the development of Brennan, in who she is as a wife and mother and person and pillar within her family, that she doesn't even realize it, so it's kind of downplayed from her point of view. Because she doesn't realize it. But make no mistake: This chapter is more important, story-speaking, character-speaking, than the Mother of All Fights Chapter. So please, let me know what you think — especially about the final conversation between Brennan and Rebecca (which isn't finished) but also about the conversations and interactions she has with Booth, Parker, and Dr. Towne.

I don't expect people to still care about this story, but I do hope that you do. PLEASE let me know what you think, and leave a note or comment. I really appreciate it, and I'm sorry, again, for seemingly abandoning this. There will be more! I thank y'all for all your patience.

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Disclaimer: I don't own _Bones_, _Stepmom_, or the song "Runaway" by The National.

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Although many often criticized her regarding her apparent lack of social grace and acknowledgement for decorum, Temperance Brennan was a master at observation, and loathed when Booth or Angela acted as if she was simply incapable of insight. She had lots of insight. One of her favorite games, when bored in a meeting, was to ascertain the probability that other meeting participants would develop osteoporosis, and she often would also count the numbers of bones, excluding phalanges, that they had broken over the course of their lifetime. She could catch minute line-item changes in bible-thick budgets and realized when colleagues erred just slightly from their typical habits. She knew how to gather information.

She just often diametrically disagreed with how others insisted that it be utilized. Time was finite, bad things happened, and she was busy. She was not about to prioritize superfluous things, and emotional responses typically qualified as superfluous things.

So she knew, immediately, that something had gone wrong when she came home. Logic and probability dictated that it involved Rebecca, whose continuing looming presence in her life she was beginning to resent, just a little bit. Booth's had neatly lined up his shoes by the door, and he was only that careful when he was thinking hard about something. Parker was presumably in his bedroom, and he only went upstairs before dinner when he didn't want to speak to Seeley. The TV wasn't on, and that simply never happened.

She'd had a long day. They were making plans for their next big exhibit, a human origins permanent exhibit, which she was quite excited about and had lots of thoughts on. There had been planning sessions all morning. She'd squeezed about two hours in the lab before work by waking up at four, which Booth had not been happy about. She'd had financial meetings all afternoon, and Sophia was fussy in daycare so she'd been forced to call in Shawna on her day off, and pay her in cash (Shawna was funny like that sometimes). She'd been up early for a publicity shoot for the book. Closing her eyes, she entered the kitchen. Although Booth appeared fine — he was stirring something, and _Wish You Were Here_ was piping through the iHome — something seemed just slightly off.

"I'm home," she announced.

"Hey, Bones," he said, tapping the wooden spoon lightly against the pot to shake off the excess, and facing her and smiling. "How was your day?"

"Satisfactory, I suppose. Too many budget meetings and goal-setting exercises," she said. "Yours, though?" He sighed and shrugged, turning back to his sauce. "Booth, be honest, please, what happened with Rebecca?"

His eyes widened slightly, and she rolled hers in response. "Your shoes were lined up carefully, the television is off, Parker is upstairs before dinner, you're avoiding eye contact … clearly, something is wrong."

He sighed. "In her two seconds at home, she got pneumonia."

"She was home for many more than two seconds. She was home for a week and a half."

"That was exaggeration, Bones. The point is, she's got pneumonia, and Parker's upset, and she's in the hospital for a while, and they have to interrupt chemo for this, and she'll have to have surgery anyways, once her lungs heal up." He started dicing tomatoes with intense purpose.

She bit her lip. "The chemo didn't take?"

"No. In fact, no decrease in her lungs or liver."

"Coupled with the pneumonia, that's a poor sign," she noted, more to herself than him, but it was enough to make him angry anyways.

"Yeah, Bones, which is why Park's a little upset," he said, setting the knife flat onto the counter with just a little too much force.

She pursed her lips. "When's the surgery?"

"At least after Thanksgiving." The holiday was a week away; they had plans to eat with the Hodginses. Cam was coming down. She and Booth were cooking, as Angela was simply too close to delivery to manage a large meal. "They have to clear this crap up first. If they can."

She tilted her head. "I'm so sorry, Booth."

He ran a hand along his neck, cracking it in the process, and sighed. "Nothing that you can be sorry for, Bones. I just … I don't know what to tell Parker anymore. I don't know how to talk to Rebecca."

"I would think that … the truth is the only way to go," she said, setting down her bag. "It always is."

He shook his head. "The truth is too hard, the lies are too hard … There's nothing really left," he said, walking out of the kitchen. She looked on helplessly.

So the next morning, Friday, she did something quite unorthodox. Something she had sworn she wouldn't do, because she was not going to meddle. But she swallowed her fear of Rebecca's potentially negative reaction and her certain knowledge that she was interfering in a problem and a life that she had no claim to. She called a "friend of the museum" (she still didn't quite understand that term) who worked at NIH who put her in contact with someone else who passed her on to one Malcolm Towne, a noted ovarian oncology researcher. Although she lacked medical evidence, such as scans and blood tests, she was able to give a detailed and thorough report on Rebecca's condition.

"What are you asking, Dr. Brennan?" Dr. Towne finally asked gently, as she finished her description. "What precisely would you like me to do?"

She hesitated, unsure of her exact request. "Given your expertise, can you think of any more aggressive alternative to treatment? Or perhaps a more creative approach would be appropriate."

He sighed. "I've known Randy Harrison since we did our residencies together. Believe me, she's getting some of the best care in the D.C. area."

"Is there anyone else, though?" she pressed. She had to do something. Say something. "Given the rapidity with which the cancer spread, as well as its resistance to treatment and her apparently high susceptibility to infection … In your unbiased opinion, what avenue we could pursue? Undoubtedly her case presents medical challenges that many doctors would find intellectually gratifying."

He sighed. "It appears you are looking for some sort of Dr. House, Dr. Brennan." She wrinkled her brow. "You could try Dr. Simon Altman, who is doing some new radiation treatment trials, or Dr. Catherine Kowalski, who adds some promising homeopathic elements, but I'm afraid, in my unbiased opinion, that they're going to say the same thing."

"And what would that be?"

"That at this point, Dr. Brennan, your stepson's mother's fate may be out of science's hands."

She pursed her lips at his overt spirituality. "Thank you for the recommendations, Dr. Towne. However, from one scientist to another, I'm disheartened about your dismissal of modern medicine and reliance on constructed faith," she chided.

He laughed, not unkindly. "I'm just not in the business of peddling out false hope, Dr. Brennan. I understand what you want, I do. My mother died when I was 11 of ovarian cancer. But 31 years researching this disease and I still don't know the larger answers, or even the larger questions, really. Science will find both, one day. But right now, toward the end of someone's life, the science ceases to matter. And you're getting quite close to that point."

After they hung up, she sat back, momentarily stunned. She contemplated this possibility, of course. She was a realist; neither an optimist nor a pessimist. She had known, of course, that Rebecca faced steep odds. But the idea that she would actually die from this struck her as fundamentally novel. This had been a struggle, a conflict, something that had been disrupting all of their lives, causing Parker great pain and Booth great conflict. But she had to admit to herself that she had seen something Rebecca's illness as a somewhat temporary condition, a problem just waiting for a solution. She been lulled into having faith in something — although it was not religion, the belief that science would save Rebecca was a similar leap of logic. While she had been realistic about Rebecca's statistics verbally, a small part of her had, internally, considered Rebecca exceptional simply because she was an important person in Temperance's life and that the science would eventually prevail for that reason. That was not, she realized now, necessarily true. Using her thumb to lazily twirl the Claddagh ring on her pinky, she sat and contemplated that fact for several good minutes.

Booth texted her and asked her to pick up Parker from GWUMC that afternoon, where he was visiting Rebecca for his allotted two hours every-other day. She headed there armed with cards for the appointments she'd made and articles about the doctors. Rebecca was sitting up in bed when she came in, which was a more encouraging sign than they'd seen lately, and waved her in. When Parker ran down to get Rebecca a final magazine, she turned to Rebecca and awkwardly thrust the _Note from the Desk of Dr. Temperance Brennan_ at Rebecca. "Here," she said. "I thought you might want to make these appointments. A very knowledgeable donor suggested these doctors. Dr. Towne is a preeminent researcher and his suggestions surely will be fruitful."

Rebecca took the paper skeptically. "Who are these people?"

"They're oncologists. Cancer specialists," Brennan offered.

Rebecca rolled her eyes. "Really? Wow, thank you."

"They're … slightly more radical specialists than the ones you have been seeing," Brennan clarified. "They're seeing results. They could help. I … took the liberty of calling them and setting up appointments via my professional connections. I'm told this is called pull."

Rebecca crumpled the paper agitatedly. "Temperance, you made appointments for me?" she demanded, staring hard. "What happened to staying out of it, like Seeley said you wanted to? I actually found that refreshing, you know." Tears sprang to Rebecca eyes, out of, Brennan deducted, sheer frustration.

"I know, but Booth has been requesting this for weeks, and I realized that I did have a way of helping out that did not feel like it was interfering." She wasn't about to tell Rebecca that she felt uncertain about the situation. She was not sure of their relationship dynamic, of who owed whom what, but confessionals and emotional honesty, she was sure, was not in the cards. Well. Angela told her it wasn't. "Besides, these doctors are very high-profile and probably couldn't fit you in unless someone was there to grease the wheels."

Rolling her eyes, Rebecca snapped, "I thought _you_ of all people was the person who wouldn't do this to me. Honestly. It's not like I'm _trying_ to have it go this poorly." Tears sprung to her eyes, and Brennan involuntarily took a step back, unsure of what specifically she had done wrong. It could be so many things, honestly.

"Yes. I know. That would be ridiculous. But Booth is always telling me that I'm not being actively supportive enough, given your significant medical problems, …" her voice trailed off. Perhaps that was a bad tactic, "and Parker is always so worried and upset … I wanted to do it for them," she finished lamely, as a clarifying clause. "I'm doing this for them. Not you," she added quickly.

Huffing, Rebecca said, "Thanks, Temperance. Really." It did not sound sincere.

"What's going on?" Parker asked, re-entering the room. "Is everything OK?"

"Of course. Just talking about you," Rebecca said, smiling inexplicably. "I'll see you tomorrow, ok, bub?" she hugged him tightly.

"Sounds good," he acquiesced. Brennan grabbed his backpack and coat and they headed out.

"How was school today?" she asked as they drove around the traffic circle.

"Fine," he sighed.

"Any homework?"

"No."

"Don't you have an upcoming math test?"

"It's on Wednesday, Bones, right before Thanksgiving break," he sighed. "I can't believe she scheduled a test for the day before Thanksgiving."

"It's an ordinary instructional day; the fact that the next day is a government holiday doesn't have any importance," Brennan rattled off automatically.

"Whatever, Bones," Parker muttered.

She glanced over at him, realizing just how out-of-sorts his mood was. "Is everything alright, Parker?" she questioned. "Beyond the usual things, of course."

"Of _course_, Bones," he said, finally turning from her and burrowing deep into the seat. "I don't need you _logicking_ away everything, alright?"

"I'm not _logicking_ anything away; in fact, that's not even a word."

"God, can't you just be _quiet_, once?" he said. "Please?"

Bewildered, she drove on. She understood that emotionally Parker was in turmoil and would exhibit unpredictable reactions, but she couldn't help but feel she had done something wrong. Somehow she had managed to greatly offend both Parker and Rebecca today; at this point, much as she disliked it, it was probably better to heed Booth's advice and not say anything else. She wasn't the people person, and these two in particular were his people.

Booth smiled grimly at her interaction with Parker when she recounted it, as they were getting ready for bed. "I don't understand why he's so angry now, all of the time," she said. "It's just irrational to snap at _us_."

"Bones, his mom's sick and the holidays are coming up. You know how it is."

She did, unfortunately. She knew the sick feel of dread that something very bad was happening to your domestic unit, and how the societal expectations surrounding holidays amplified that feeling. "Yes. I do," she finally said.

"Anyways, he always gets a little down around holidays — when he was little he always asked for his family from Santa — and this year, it's just worse," Booth sighed. "I want to give him something really awesome for Christmas, but whatever it is won't matter."

She pursed her lips. "You should be proud that material objects don't matter too much to him?" she suggested, though she knew it wouldn't help.

His shoulders sagged. "I'm thinking Sweets should take him out to ice cream. You know, his teacher called me again today? Apparently, besides being mouthy to us and punch-happy at hockey, he also hasn't been turning in his homework."

"You and Becca agreed to ground him for infractions like that."

"Not right _now_, Bones," he said. "He's responding to the situation. I just don't know what to do with him."

"Perhaps, instead of having him spend Thanksgiving lunch with his mother and Thanksgiving dinner with us, we should all have a meal together?" she tried. "We could bring the food to the hospital."

He looked at her curiously. "Are you sure?"

"You said the stress of having a fractured family is only compounding the stress of having an extremely ill mother. One practical solution is to bring that family together during the holidays," she reasoned. "Angela and Cam will understand."

His face broke out into an all-out Seeley Booth grin, something that was unexpected but certainly a refreshing sight to see. Kissing her lightly, he said, "I'll check with Brent, ok? We'll see if we can make this work. Thank you."

"Booth, I hope you know by this point that — that I love Parker very much. That … I love you, very much. It's a minor thing, really, and if this will help him, of course we'll do it." It was not like she put a great emphasis on holidays, though she certainly understood them more since marrying Booth.

"Still, though, Bones, that was amazing. Thank you." He kissed her again, and she pressed herself into him wantonly, hoping that sex would clear her feelings, or at the very least make her forget about how inexplicably, out-of-proportion his happiness at this was. She could have sworn they'd already settled this argument, about whether he could depend upon her for support. He responded eagerly, and she quickly rolled him under her, taking comfort in his usual cocky I'm-about-to-get-laid grin.

Her feelings of confused inadequacy lingered, though. She and Sophia were already scheduled to meet Angela and Talia for shopping, and she decided impulsively to invite them to brunch at Urbana beforehand. Angela's outlook always made her feel better about herself.

Angela, somehow, knew that something was off immediately. "OK, Brennan, spill. I'm two weeks away from popping out twins and I have _no _patience right now. Just talk," she said as soon as they'd ordered.

Shocked, Brennan's mouth gaped for a few seconds, and she focused feeding Sophia orange juice. Finally, she said, "Booth is checking, but I believe we're going to be celebrating Thanksgiving at the hospital with Rebecca's family. I'm very sorry to be switching plans on you."

"Don't be, Bren. Jack and I can cope. This way is probably better for Parker."

Brennan nodded vigorously. "That was my thought."

"Great. So what's really bothering you?" Angela smiled.

"I will never understand how you do that," Brennan said, after recovering. Honestly. It was such a skill.

Angela just rolled her eyes and said, "Rebecca, Parker, or Booth?"

"Rebecca, I think," she mumbled. "But they're all so confusing."

"What do you mean?"

"It's just … No matter what I do, one of them is angry with me. Or they're all angry with me, for no logical reason. Or I do something that respects one of theirs' wishes but makes someone else angry with me."

"Bren, they're not angry at you. They're angry at the situation."

"I understand that, but that doesn't help me," she seethed.

"What's the latest crisis?" Angela scooped some jam onto bread.

She sighed. "While I sympathize with Rebecca and … can't imagine what she's going through now, I've been keeping my distance, for many reasons. This has upset Booth and, while Parker hasn't expressed displeasure with me, Booth says it's upset Parker as well. And Rebecca has extended invitations to me, via Booth, to attend various appointments, et cetera. But when I heard about the latest report, I … called a friend of the museum. A doctor at NIH. I got the names of several researchers in the area, called them, made appointments. When I go to tell Rebecca, she's … _angry_ with me. She started … _crying_."

Angela was contemplative. "Does Rebecca know why you stayed out earlier?"

Brennan shrugged. "I don't know. I try and stay out of her life."

"Which Rebecca knows," Angela replied. "She's probably just scared of the same things you are — that she's getting closer to dying. And you volunteering to set her up with some of your contacts and rearranging Thanksgiving probably just reminds her of that."

"So I shouldn't have done that?"

"No, you _absolutely_ should have done that," Angela insisted. "You're in this, Brennan. You're in a family. It means opening yourself up to get hurt by someone, in order to help her. It means there will be tears sometimes. But you do this stuff because you've got a bond, and that bond is love — love for Booth, for Parker, even for Rebecca."

"I don't love Rebecca," she answered automatically.

"You do. You love her for how she gave Booth Parker."

She contemplated the possibility that Angela was right.

That night, Booth informed her that the hospital had okayed them doing Thanksgiving there and, provided everything complied with Rebecca's nutritional restrictions, they could bring a feast with them. She dashed off a quick email to Rebecca's nutritionist and Googled bland, but tasty, Thanksgiving recipes. Parker, for his part, was visibly relieved to get to spend all day with all four parents, his sister, and his aunts. He spent the evenings that week making large, colorful Thanksgiving decorations and "test-posting" them all over the living room.

Still, when the morning arrived, Parker was suddenly, again, in an awful mood. "I'm not going," he announced over breakfast. "You can go without me. I'll make myself macaroni and cheese."

"Parker, don't be ridiculous, go get dressed," Booth said, tiredly. "You're going. Bones arranged all of this so everyone would be together. We're not going to the Hodginses' just so we could all spend this together."

"I feel really sorry for you, Daddy," Parker said crossly, and it struck Bones out anachronistic the term 'Daddy' was right now, how absolutely trapped Parker was, in so many ways. "But I don't want to. So sorry." He stomped off.

"Parker Michael Stinson Booth, get back her _now_, apologize to Bones, and sit down, or _you will be grounded_," Booth yelled, something inside him snapping. "You have been getting away with _murder_ this month, and you need to know that will _not_ be tolerated. _NOW!_"

Sullenly, Parker came back, arms crossed. Heavily sighing as he sat down, he kicked a leg of the chair. "Happy now?" he snarked.

"Sit. Up. Straight." Booth said, his voice deadly. She hadn't heard that tone since their last interrogation together. Parker obeyed. "Apologize to Bones. That was disrespectful."

"Sorry, Bones," he huffed, not making eye contact.

"It's OK, Park," she said, smiling slightly.

But an hour later, when Booth called for Parker to come down so they could all leave, the pre-teen screeched, "I'm not coming, and you _can't make_ me!"

"Parker, that's it, you're _grounded_!" Booth yelled. "You are disrespecting your mother, your stepmother, and me!"

"I don't care!" he yelled back.

"Can I try talking to him?" she asked.

Booth made a big gesture of stepping aside so she could go upstairs. "Be my freaking guest."

"_Language_, Booth," she reminded him, as she ascended the stairs. She could feel him roll his eyes.

"Parker?" she knocked on his door before opening it. "Hey. Can you tell me what's wrong?"

Parker was lying on his bed, staring out the window. "I was all excited an' everythin' for Thanksgiving," he admitted. "Because I _never_ get to have one Thanksgiving, you know?"

"Yes, I do know."

"An' then I realized … I might get just one Thanksgiving next year, too, but it's because Mom's died." He stared out the window, his eyes empty.

"Parker …" she said, helplessly sitting beside him. "That might be, yes. But we can't let hypotheticals in the future dictate our current moods."

"It's not a h'pothetical," he mumbled.

"Well, it's a little more than that," she admitted. "But, Parker —"

"Just stop, Bones, please," he begged.

"No," she said resolutely, moving so she could look straight at him, whether or not he liked that. She remembered something that Angela had told her, long ago. "At the first Thanksgiving —"

"The one that you said was basically invented to cover up the white people murdering hundreds of Native Americans?" Parker asked, his eyebrow raised.

"Well, yes, there was that," she said, remembering her slightly-wine-fueled argument with Booth at last year's Thanksgiving.

"Well, yes, but the myth was invented with a purpose that transcends its factual meaning, within our culture," she said. "It's important — when studying cultures, it's important to remember why these myths were invented. What purpose they served. We have to ask, what comfort do they give members of that tribe?"

"It basically lets white Americans feel safe in the knowledge that their murdering an entire population?" he asked, smirking a little.

"Parker, I'm _very_ sorry for that little soliloquy last year, please let it go," she said, smacking his shoulder lightly.

He laughed a little, burrowed into his pillow. "Just teasing, Bones."

"I know," she smiled. "Anyways, when one examines the myth, one realizes that the myth is really about overcoming hardship. About coming together, about being a family of human beings, despite the terrible things that are happening in their lives. It's remembering why they care for one another. Anthropologically, remembering why we care for one another is _extremely_ important, as it is this kind of selflessness that separates higher primates from lower primates and other mammals. We … have to care for each other, or we die. That's what the Thanksgiving myth highlights."

"I don't care right now," he said defiantly, face back in the pillow.

"Parker," she said firmly. "This is about family. Which is the most important thing in the world, to you, to your father, to _me_, to your _mother_, right now. And I know it hurts. I spent … years … running away from family, because family hurts. Because family — is about doing things that might hurt _you _a little, because it helps someone that you love. And … we've asked you to do a lot, for people that you love, recently. But this … this one is _really_ important to your father, Parker. It's really important to your mother. And, because we are family, because we love family, we do these things. We're all hurting, Parker, every day, right now. But we keep doing these things because … well, because we know they're right. We know we're all hurting. We know we're all doing this because we love each other. You know that, right?"

He sniffled, a little. "Yeah."

"OK. Let's go." She wasn't sure if that would work, but Parker stood, wiped his eyes, and followed her slowly.

Twenty minutes later, Brennan steadfastly carried several platters of food into a conference room on the chemo floor of the hospital. It was sparse, but those things didn't matter to Brennan or, she suspected, to Rebecca. There was a flat-screen TV at the front of the room, and Booth and Brent began toggling between the game and the Macy's parade almost immediately. Parker hung up his decorations. Rebecca, too weak to walk, was wheeled in, her sisters following and worrying over her every move. Rebecca's nameless brothers-in-law and nieces and nephews milled hesitantly on the other end of the conference table. Booth and Brent were mostly getting along, which was nice. Parker spent most of his time with one or both of his parents, who were making an extra effort to be cheery.

To her surprise, she was able to have a generally pleasant conversation with Lisa about Disney movies. She had initially felt trepidation about meeting Sarah and Lisa, as Parker and Booth both seemed to loathe them, but she was surprisingly insightful about the long-term impact of Disney movies on the American child. As soon as she mentioned that revelation to Lisa, however, Lisa simply puckered her sallow lips and moved on. Brennan focused on playing with Sophia.

For Rebecca's sake dinner was served very early, around noon. The only place to sit was around the faux-wood conference table, and they took their places gingerly, the awkwardness back.

Brent stood to make the first toast. "Um, well, thank you, everyone, for coming. I know this isn't the ideal place to spend a Thanksgiving, but I — we, Rebecca and I — really appreciate everyone being so accommodating. And thank you, Temperance, for making most of this feast, and Sarah and Lisa of course for helping. It looks really delicious. Anyways, I'd like to just say that I'm thankful that you're all here. It's been a tough year, and it's times like this you realize just how important family is. We … couldn't do this without you. So — to family, and to next year celebrating at home." Everyone raised a glass, and Brent seemed to struggle to hold back tears. Rebecca leaned over and hugged him with one arm.

Brennan motioned to Booth to speak, but he shook his head. "Bones, you planned this all — cooked it all. You should say something."

She tried not to stare at him too obviously, but was not happy with this suggestion. Finally, she stood, thrusting her glass into the air. It dangled there for a few moments before she found her voice. Starting slowly, thickly, she remembered her talk with Parker, and finally said, "Although it is blatantly historically inaccurate and is often used to cover up many egregious human-rights violations, the Pilgrim-Native American myth upon which this holiday is predicated talks of putting aside differences and coming together to bond over our shared humanity. Today we're focusing on similar themes. In that myth, the Pilgrims and the Native Americans had just had a very difficult year. They didn't know what the future held — for all they knew, it could be even worse. They gathered and ate with the belief, perhaps completely unfounded, that the next year would be better. It is not unlike what we're experiencing today. Rebecca's illness is why we are here. It's been a hard year for all of us as we cope and help and try to help. But for today, even though it is irrational, let's set aside differences and expectations and hope that whatever we believe it — whether that is science or faith or in other people — will fix this, so that next year we can all celebrate in much more aesthetically pleasing homes. So, to family, the future, celebrating survival, and remembering that unexpected things happen." They raised their glasses in toast. Booth squeezed her hand tightly and kissed her cheek.

The chatter picked up at dinner then, and even after Rebecca retired with Parker and Brent to her room, conversation was able to continue as the nephews and men rearranged chairs around the flat-screen. As she was talking with one of Sarah's children about her interest in science, Booth came up behind her, wrapping his palms flat against her waist and murmuring, "Why didn't you tell me?" into her ear.

Twisting in his embrace so she could face him, she replied, "Tell you what?" Her mind whirred through the possibilities of important things she should have told Booth, particularly anything that would have offended him if he were excluded.

"What you did for Rebecca? Calling those oncologists?"

"Oh," she said. "I mean, I … I just made some calls."

"Yeah, but Bones," his eyes searched her face, before he finally said, "Thank you."

"It wasn't a big deal," she said. "I just … You were so upset. And Parker was so upset. It … became too much to watch."

He kissed her lightly, but she deepened it immediately, and they stood there, kissing deeply but without fervid intensity, until Parker cleared his throat. "Um," he said, "Mom wants to talk to you, Bones."

"Oh. Of course," Brennan said, straightening her shirt. As she walked off, she heard Booth kneel down next to Parker and ask, "Is everything alright?"

Rebecca's room was empty and dark, save for a bluish-green blur of a football game on TV. Rebecca's eyes were closed, and Brennan was about to leave when she stirred and said, "I'm awake. It's alright."

"If you need rest, you should do so," Brennan volunteered, still standing in the doorway. "Rest is an important component of recovery."

"No, no, please come in," Rebecca sat up, adjusted her scarf. She'd recently lost all her hair, and it brought a sense of finality to her illness. "So is this."

"Is everything alright?" Brennan sat down gingerly in the plastic armchair.

"Yes. Well … as alright as they can be."

"I … feel as if I owe you an apology, though I'm not quite sure why," Brennan said, stumbling over the words. "For giving you those names. As I'm sure you've picked up on, I try and stay as far away from your life as possible. Out of respect. We have no role in each other's lives, really. And making those phone calls was … very impetuous of me. Therefore, I owe you an apology." She didn't care what Angela thought, it was wrong.

"I owe you one as well, then," Rebecca said. "You were trying to help, and I get that, and I yelled at you. Parker is important to you. It kills me … to see him so upset. And you're practically raising him right now," her voice was laced with only a trace of acrimony. "So you have to see him, this upset, every day. And that … I know that is hard."

"He's your _son_, Rebecca," Brennan said, unsure of where the conversation was headed.

"Right. And if I can't be there to comfort him and try and make this … to make anything, better for him, I want you to be the one that does that," she looked straight at Brennan. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Of course …. I … no. Not exactly," she admitted.

Rebecca swallowed and looked away. "I'm dying. Maybe that will reverse at some point, but as of now, I'm dying. I'm having surgery again, next week. And after that, there's more chemo. But … nothing's taking. The treatments aren't working. Doctors are saying weeks, months. The doctors you called … they said the exact same thing. We're adding elements from their regimens, but they're cautious. They don't think I'm going to live. I pushed them yesterday. Dr. Nixon said three months."

She stared at Rebecca. "Nobody can predict the future," she said, surprising even herself with her reckless, insistent optimism.

"No, but they can predict the odds," Rebecca said. "And they're not good." She shifted. "Did you ever see the movie _Stepmom_?" Brennan shook her head. "Good," Rebecca said. "It's an awful movie, really. I don't want … I don't want to give a speech. But … I need to know that if … when, really … something happens to me … that Parker will still have a mother."

Stunned, Brennan stepped back. "Rebecca …" she started.

"No. Nothing about the future. No. I'm just … I'm not scared … or mad … anymore. I'm really not. Not for me. Mostly, I'm just tired. But Parker … I'm scared for him. I'm mad I don't get to see him grow up. I have … so many things to say, so many things I haven't taught him," Rebecca looked at the ceiling, attempting to blink back tears. "But right now, getting things in order is more important. Because every day, he changes. Some days it's a little, some days it's a lot. But he grows, every single day, and I'm scared for him, that … he'll change in bad ways, if I'm not there. And Seeley … Seeley tries, so hard, with him, and he's a great father for him, really … But all Parker wants to do is to grow up and be exactly like Seeley. And that's not good for Parker."

She flinched. "Booth's a good man. A good father."

"No, no, he is. But trying to be exactly like him will just crush Parker, because he _can't_ be exactly his father, you see? And everything that made Seeley _Seeley_ … Parker shouldn't have to go through that. He needs to be protected. He needs someone to be his mother."

"Rebecca … I can't … I'm not … I'm not you. And I can't just replace you, replicate that bond. You two have … years together. You know his history in ways that I cannot. You know _everything_ about him, things he doesn't even know. I've … observed him, for years, but even the best anthropologists can't become members of their own subject groups. That's not how it works."

"I know. And I still don't want anyone else to be his mother. But that … How I feel doesn't matter. The one thing, the only thing that really matters, is making sure that someone is around to remind him to buy a corsage for his date to prom. And to tuck in his shirt, do his laundry. To remind him to eat vegetables and to sleep and to laugh. To _ask_ the love of his life to marry him, instead of just assuming she'll go along with it. He'll try and do that. To give him hugs even when he says he's too old for that mushy stuff. To kiss whatever the grown-up version of scraped knees is."

"I'm not sure how good I'll be at those things," she admitted.

"You could be better than you think," Rebecca insisted lightly. "You've been much better at being a mother, a stepmother, than you've given yourself credit for. Than I've given you credit for." She stared straight at her. "I've never really seen what Seeley sees in you, until lately. But you care deeply, even when you have trouble showing it, and you work hard. It's not the way I would do things but right now… Right now it's enough. More than enough, really."

"I … don't want to be Parker's mother, you know. I barely wanted to be a mother, until very recently."

"I know. Seeley and I talk; Parker and I talk. I never wanted anyone else to be Parker's mother, either," she sighed. "But right now, you're here. And I need to know — you have a baby. You'll probably have more kids, according to Parker. You and Seeley have this whole, _perfect _family. I need to know that Parker won't just be a stepchild. I need you to be his mother."

Brennan was quiet. There was so much she wanted to say, so many points she wanted to refute, so many treatments she wanted to push onto Rebecca, to keep her alive, to keep Parker happy. She had a million case studies at the tip of her tongue, a million cultural examples of the importance of mothers. But it wasn't the time. "I … can't replace you. At all. But I will always love and protect Parker, Rebecca, no matter what happens to you, to me, to Seeley. You have my word."

Rebecca didn't say anything, just slumped backwards, as if all her energy had been suddenly depleted. Brennan had a suspicion that the conversation had not gone the way Rebecca had wanted it to, and she wondered, again, what she could have done differently.

She didn't have much time to speculate. "Bones! Hey, Bones!" Parker skidded into the room on the back of his loafers. "Dad — Angela's in the hospital! She's having the babies! You gotta come. Dad says I get to watch Jack and Talia!"

"Oh. Yes, of course," Brennan rose. "Rebecca — do you need anything? I'm very sorry."

"No, no, I'm done. You should go," Rebecca shifted. "And Temperance — thank you."

Brennan paused as Parker tugged her hand. "You're welcome. I'll — If necessary, I'll do my best." She took off quickly, after Parker, trying hard not to look back at Rebecca.


	14. A body adrift in water, salt and sky

Woohoo, look, another update! Sorry for the delay on this, but real life (post-college) is kind of insanely busy. I'm still working on this, and it will, eventually, one day, get finished (I should note: This is not going to end with Rebecca's death. We know she dies in January, and I've said all along this follows an entire year.). This chapter feels a little like filler to me, but it needed to be written. It's an important bridge. Let me know what you think about it, and how Parker's doing.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bones, or the song "Swim Until You Can't See Land." It's by Frightened Rabbit and you should listen to it.

* * *

Whenever Parker had a bad day at hockey, his coaches would just yell, "Bad day, bad day, brush it off, brush it off."

But what was he supposed to do when it had been one big bad month, going on two, now? He pondered that question as he looped around the rink, skating backwards, doing some trick footwork just cause every so often. He was _so_ good at skating backwards, you didn't even know. But this sucky day thing was just getting old.

"Good form, good form," Dad called, from where he stood in the middle of the ice. "When did you go pro on me, Parks?"

Parker rolled his eyes and grinned. "Right after they suspended me. It wasn't for fighting. It was for being too good." He'd been suspended right before Thanksgiving, for fighting in a game. It had been weird — he'd been playing, playing, playing real good, then some guy from the other team got all up in his face, and he just punched him to get him to shut up. He barely remembered doing it. Brent and Aunt Lisa had been there, and they almost got to him quicker than the coaches, they were so mad.

"Smartass," his dad called back. "You're lucky you're out here. Your mom wanted you benched an extra month." The coaches had been pretty cool; at least, they hadn't kicked him of the team, which they totally were allowed to. He was benched for five games though.

He had been kind of surprised when Dad had pulled him out to go on the ice today. Dad had been madder than anyone else. He hadn't been at the game because of work but he'd gotten really in his face and yelled and then sent him to his room. Dad kind of had a temper too, so he couldn't really _talk_, but he could yell, since he was the dad.

So Parker had known better than to argue when Dad suggested the visit.

"You kiss Bones with that mouth, Daddy?" he sassed back, twisting a phrase all of his parents always used on him. He wasn't sure what it meant, but Dad's bugged-out face when he said it was _priceless_.

"Alright, now, when did you start acting 16?" Dad said, and it was funny because Dad looked honestly confused.

He laughed. "Sorry, Dad."

"Don't grow up too fast on me, OK? It's bad enough you're going to seventh grade in the fall, you hear?"

He giggled. "Yes, sir."

Dad grinned and gave him a noogie. "OK, let's get these skates off. We need to get to Angela's and Hodgins's."

Angela had had the twins, which they named Ava Charlotte and Audrey Claire (not their original names, according to Bones, but then again Talia was going to be named Azura before she was born), just three days before, on Thanksgiving. It had been awesome — Dad and him had taken care of Sophie and Joe and Talia as Bones and Hodgins dealt with Angela. He'd gotten to touch a _one-hour-old baby_. It was kind of cool, because their skin was basically see-through. But since they came pretty early, Angela hadn't had her baby shower, and she was throwing it as planned now — just with the teensy little babies.

Not that he thought babies were cool. They were kind of gross and loud. But a party at Angela's and Hodgins's meant really kickass food. Still — "Are there going to be other kids there? Not babies," he clarified.

Dad laughed. "Not sure, bub. Angela didn't say. I'll have your PSP in the car, OK? We don't have to stay the whole time, but Bones definitely does. I told your mom we'd swing by around four to see her too."

"Do we have to?" he asked, scowling, before he could help it. It wasn't that he didn't love Mom. Because he did. He just was sick of the hospital and didn't like to see her there. He knew what it meant and how sick she really was — he didn't need to be as smart as Bones to know, her weight loss and hair loss told him enough — and he just didn't want to be there. But Dad kept making him go and it kept messing with him. He didn't know what to think or say anymore, and not thinking and not saying anything made his head hurt, and thinking about what to say made his head hurt, so he tried not to do either anymore. That didn't really hurt, but it didn't feel good, either. Mostly, he just felt shitty and obligated to act happy, even though he never felt happy.

"Parks," Dad said, with a warning in his voice. "Your mom is having surgery in two days. You need to see her beforehand."

"Sorry," he mumbled, yanking a skate off his foot. "I just hate the hospital."

"I know. So do I. So does your mom."

Angela and Hodgins had the most awesome house, up on California. It wasn't that the place was huge — even though it was — but they put the craziest stuff in it. Some of it was art, that was Angela's. She had crazy stuff he knew Mom and Bones weren't thrilled with him seeing, though he didn't understand what exactly they were. But some of it was crazy inventions and science stuff and some crazy bugs, and those were Hodgins's. And they were awesome. For instance, the doorbell was a scarab beetle that danced when you rang it, and ringing the doorbells set off a dancing light pattern in their crazy-colored chandelier in the main hall. There were lots of random things like that around the house.

After he rang the bug doorbell, a slightly-crazy-eyed Hodgins answered the door, Joe on his back, Talia sitting on his leg. "Excellent, excellent, come in, come in," he said. "Uh… so throwing a baby shower with three-day-olds … Maaaaaaybe not the best idea we've ever had. So we cancelled the big shindig, Angie thinks she'll throw it around Christmas instead. But we wanted to have you guys over, and Cam and Malcolm and Michelle were already in town too, so, uh … we're having a christening. In about half an hour. Daisy and Sweets are coming. Angie's dad too."

"You should be in a church for a baptism," Dad said, stepping inside and taking off his coat.

"Yeah," Parker echoed. It was true. He remembered Sophie's christening. They were in a church then. "They're too little too."

"Well they can be baptized at any age," Dad corrected him. "Some cuckoo Baptist types don't baptize their kids till they're way older. Like your age."

"That's done so the youth can make their own decision to join their religious faction, Booth, don't judge," Bones said, walking in behind a toddling Sophie.

"You just called them factions!" Dad retorted, and Parker rolled his eyes. Bones and Dad just liked to fight, he was convinced.

"If I were discussing, for instance, an island group that worshipped reincarnated beings, such as zombies, the term 'cult' would be anthropologically as well as colloquially correct, and even forgiving. Faction is a less socially-loaded term than cult; therefore, I am, again, confused by your outrage at my word choice," Bones said. He could tell she used the word zombie to intentionally poke Dad. Dad didn't take the bait, probably to the relief of everyone in the room.

"Anyways," Hodgins said, leading them into the second family room. "I know a guy, this Episcopalian priest, he did everything when I was growing up, I called him, he can do it here. We thought a small thing at home would be best." Parker looked up to see Dad rolling his eyes. He knew that Dad didn't like it when anyone — including them and the Hodginses — got special things done for them because they had money. He knew that Dad and Bones had money, but that the Hodginses had _money_.

"You can't wait until the Feast of the Baptism of our Lord, or something?" Dad asked, annoyed, as they entered the kitchen. "Also, part of the point of the sacrament of baptism is to welcome them into a family of Christians."

"What, just because I'm half Jewish suddenly we're not a family?" Angela raised an eyebrow.

"A _church_ family, Ange."

"If this priest friend of Jack's hadn't agreed to do it I would have gotten my Universal Life-Buddhist monk friend to do it," Angela said. Parker believed her. "It's about celebrating the miracle that they were born, not relegating them to one deity and religion for their entire lives."

"It's a _sacrament_," Dad started, but Bones cut in with, "Booth, stop. You're being rude."

"Anyways, it's just a small thing — we're just thankful we got through such an early delivery and we're celebrating that," Angela said. At that, Dad was finally silent. "Sweets and Daisy have already been asked to be one of the sets of godparents," Angela continued. "And, Parker, we'd like you and Michelle to be the other set."

"He isn't confirmed —" Dad started, but Bones silenced him with a Look.

Parker shrugged. "Do I have to do anything?" he worried. "Like, help them find Jesus or something?"

"You just have to promise to help them out, if they ever have any problems," Angela said. "You look out for them. Make sure they know they're loved."

He shrugged again. It kind of felt like it should be more than just _that_ — he would do that for any of the Hodgins kids, even Joe and Talia and whatever twin he didn't get — but then he realized that Uncle Jared and Aunt Lisa hardly did either of those things for him. He could be a way better godfather than either of them, even if he was only in sixth grade. "Sure. Which twin do I get?"

Angela grinned. "Audrey's kind of our tomboy already, so we figured you'd like to be hers? Ava's a little quiet. But really happy."

He nodded. "OK, that sounds fine."

Angela clapped and hugged him, squealing a little. "Awesome! Ok, wow, so excited. But now your dad needs to take you home to get a suit on. Non-negotiable, Parks."

So he and Dad ran home. By the time they got back, Daisy, Sweets, Cam, Malcolm, and Michelle (and he had to admit, he was kind of excited to have to spend all afternoon standing next to Michelle, who was, as always, looking fine. Today she had a pretty pink-and-orange print dress on.) were already there and dressed up, and the priest was there in his funny collar too. The priest was pretty nice, if old.

Then he and Michelle and Sweets and Daisy had a meeting with the priest about the rules and what they needed to say and everything. They ran through it pretty quickly. It was a lot of _I Will, with God's help_s, mostly, and some _Lord, here our prayer_s and stuff. He wasn't really paying attention, honestly. The priest friend was kind of old, and he whistled a little, on accident, when he talked, and he wore a suit, not the priest collars that Parker was used to, but he seemed pretty nice. Daisy was crazy-excited, and kept clapping and hugging people and shaking them back and forth. Daisy always kind of scared him. He didn't get why everything made her so happy. It made her seem like not a real person.

Then it came time for the actual ceremony and Michelle turned to him and asked, "Do you want to hold her?"

He shrugged. "Sure." He was used to babies by this point, after all, with Sophie and everything.

She gingerly transferred Audrey into his arms, and the baby settled down quietly. Michelle smirked. "You're good with her."

"I have a gift," he smiled, like Dad. Mom had told him this was what flirting was. "I'm really good with kids. Dogs too."

Michelle doubled over, literally, her hands on her hips and her nose practically at her knees. "God, you are too much," she finally said, standing and catching her breath. "Natural born charmer. You are _so _Booth's kid."

His smile faded a little. After all, Mom said that all the time. "I also help old ladies cross the street?" he offered. She just laughed harder.

Everyone else came out then, Dad and Bones all dressed up and Angela and Talia and Hodgins and Joe too, and Angie's crazy bearded father. Mr. Montenegro (or whatever his name was) at least had a clean shirt. Parks held Audrey carefully, slightly awed by the fact that something this little and light would one day bloom into an entire person. He remembered feeling the same way with Sophie. The priest had a very large silver engraved tub, and when he filled it with water, the water sparkled like diamonds.

"Ohhhh, I'm so excited," Angela trilled. "Parks, are you excited?" She put his arms around his shoulders and kind of made him sway back and forth. He liked it.

He grinned. "Yeah."

Angela grinned bigger. "Excellent. Let's just get everything _ready_."

And suddenly there was music and the lights dimmed, and Angela quickly lit a bunch of candles. They were in a very formal room, and it looked like a church. It felt very hushed, almost spooky. He stood up a little straighter.

It didn't quite feel like a church, but it felt a lot like one. It made him appreciate everything a little more, kind of. And it made him think. There was heavy, sad, churchy music coming from somewhere too, which made him think more.

Parker said the same words that he had said only a few minutes before — that he would help Audrey, show her God, teach her things she needed to know, protect her. Keep her safe. He promised, to God, that he would do all these things. Tears sprung to his eyes.

He stared at the babies harder. They were so _little_, their skin like paper. They had so much in front of them. And nobody knew what exactly what was there, what was in front of them. They could live for one hundred years, they could live for one hundred days. Who knew what would happen to them? They could get cancer when they were thirty-six. They could beat the cancer, or they could not. No matter what happened, it didn't matter if he protected them or not. It was in God's hands. And he couldn't control that. At all. In the end, these words that he and Michelle and Sweets and Daisy were saying, they were all just words. Just words. They didn't matter. It made him dizzy.

He started to sob harder, clutching at the baby, trying not to be too loud. Michelle grabbed Audrey quickly, just to protect her, just like she'd just promised to, and then looked at him concernedly. Dad grabbed him by the shoulders, waved everyone else off, and pushed him into the kitchen.

"Hey, hey, bub," Dad said, hugging him as he cried harder. "Here, here. It's'k. Drink some water. Here." Dad handed him a glass.

He swallowed and brushed off his eyes. "Did I ruin everything? Do I still get to be Audrey's godfather?" He hadn't thought of that. What if that was a requirement or something? That he took the vows and got through them without screwing up?

"Of course, bub," Dad said, still looking at him. "Now, you going to tell me what's up?"

"Nothin'," he shrugged. Then, he admitted, "I'm not … I don't know."

"Well, why'd you start crying? Is this about your mom, bub?" Dad rubbed his back. Bones appeared in the doorway, slipping in silently.

"_No. _ Not _everything_ is about Mom," he rolled his eyes. "It's just … It doesn't matter if I say I'm going to protect Audrey, does it?" he asked. "She could still get hit by a bus or struck by lightning."

"Or get cancer," Dad supplied.

He paused. "Yeah. Or get cancer." He could feel Dad and Bones exchanging a Look over his head.

"Bub, that's … kind of part of it. You can't protect her from everything. You're not going to be there for everything. But it's a promise just to help, when you can. To be there. The way you're there for Sophie. That's all."

"But I can't _protect_ her," he huffed.

"Bub …" Dad said, his voice so funny and thick Parker almost didn't recognize it. "I can't protect you from everything. Hard as … hard as I try, I can't. And I'm sorry. Sometimes … Sometimes that makes me feel like I'm screwing up too. But all I can do is try. And I try so, so hard. And that's all they're asking you to, in a little way."

"They're not. They're _not. _I'm saying I will, not I try," he insisted.

Dad and Bones exchanged a look. Angela poked her head in, worried. "What if we changed it to 'I'll try,' not 'I will'?" Dad asked. "Would that make it better.

He sighed. That wasn't the point, really. His stomach was still in knots. But he didn't know how to _explain_ it to Dad, and he didn't want to keep holding everything up. It was embarrassing, crying in front of Michelle like this. "Yeah, I guess," he breathed hard through his nose. "Yeah, that's good."

All the adults exchanged a look, and then nodded. Dad squeezed his shoulder and clapped him on the back. Bones and Angela slipped out again, he drank some more water, he and Dad walked back out.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm ready now."

Everyone tiptoed around him for a little, but he was funny and jokey and he managed to convince everyone that he was OK again, and he mostly was. And mostly had to be good enough these days, he decided.

He kind of expected Dad to let him skip visiting Mom, but no such luck. She was kind of sleeping when he came in, but she woke up pretty quickly and sat up. "Why are you in a suit?" she laughed. "You look very handsome."

"Angela and Jack had a bap'ism for the twins," he said. "Me'n'Michelle are Audrey's godparents."

"You're her _godfather_?" Mom asked, astonished.

"Well," he said, "Dad doesn't think it's a real baptism. B'cause it was in their house, and I'm not sure he was a real priest. Or he was but it wasn't normal. Or something." That part still confused him. "Basically I just promised to act like Audrey's my little sister too. Like Sophie."

"That's a big responsibility, Parks," she noted.

"Yeah. Angela thinks I can do it, though."

"How was the baptism?"

He shrugged. "Fine." He had trouble telling Mom things these days. Part of it was that Mom was embarrassing about certain things, like girls and school, and part of it was he just didn't like to tell her things anymore. Telling her things meant talking to her meant being in that hospital, where she wasn't fine. Basically, she just needed to leave the hospital so everything could go back to normal. "Are you ready for your surgery?"

"Ready as I'll ever be. The doctors are running some more tests tomorrow and we'll be all set for Tuesday."

"What kind of things?" Although he hated being I n the hospital and seeing her in the hospital, he genuinely thought the medical things were interesting. It was really cool, actually. The doctors had given him diagrams, like what they used when planning the surgery, so he could follow along, and he liked hearing about how the treatments could make her better. They felt like magic, some days. It made him forget about the awfulness of the hospital. The X-rays, the diagrams, were clear, easy. They were solutions. They showed a way out of this mess. That was why he liked them so much. Plus, while he didn't _like_ (at all) what was happening to her, he'd much rather know what was happening than just be sitting outside worrying. "I have my maps."

"You wanna take a look at them?" Mom asked. "We can go over it."

So they went over the met-level tests she'd be given tomorrow, and they used the big book the nurses had left on cancer pathology to look up the terms. Mom didn't like knowing them the way he did, but she went over them with him anyways. She knew a lot now. He only had to explain a little. They lay on her bed, as if floating or stargazing, and he used his pointer finger to talk about what they saw on the X-rays or diagrams. "So once they cut all this out, down and around and a loop here, you'll basically be better," he promised her as he pointed to her lungs on the film.

"We hope I will, Parks," she reminded him.

He pretended he didn't hear her. "And then you'll be going home."

She sighed. "I sure hope so, Parks."

They sat like that for a while — he wasn't sure why, but he liked the quiet. He always had, like Dad and Mom and Bones. Even Brent. They weren't people who liked to talk much.

Dad picked him up pretty late, and they went home. He didn't get to see Mom on Monday because her surgery was the next day and she needed to rest, but they talked on the phone Monday night. They didn't talk about anything important — Mom's voice was easy; she didn't seem worried, so they didn't really talk about it. He'd gone into Bones's office for a little privacy (anywhere else and he _knew_ Dad would listen in) and so Bones, unshockingly, found him there after they'd hung up and he was still sitting there thinking hard.

"Oh," she said, and she looked a little startled. "Did I disturb you? Even though you are, as I'm sure you know, in my office."

"Sorry Bones. I needed some privacy. Dad likes to eavesdrop," he explained. "You don't think he'd _actually _tap the phones, do you?" He had threatened that once.

"I truly think that was just your father's misguided attempts at humor," she said, though she looked like she was definitely considering it.

"Probably," he said sarcastically, but Bones cocked her head anyways like she wasn't sure what he meant. "Anyways. I'm sorry. I know I'm not s'posed to be in your office without permission."

"You were on the phone with your mother?" she asked mildly.

"Yeah," he shrugged.

She nodded. "Anyways. Dr. Sweets is here to see you. He wants to take you out for ice cream. Despite the fact that it is 28 degrees out and that a chilly snack typically isn't what one craves when the temperature is so low." He thought he saw a touch of a smirk at Bones's lips.

He narrowed his eyes. That was weird. He liked Sweets, well enough (he barely knew Sweets, honestly, except he knew it was OK to be mouthy to him, according to Dad), but they weren't _buddies_, the way maybe he and Hodgins could be sometimes. He and Sweets didn't do things together. So it was weird.

Still Bones pushed him out in the living room, where Sweets was hanging out awkwardly, hands in the pockets of his baggy suit jacket. Parker didn't think he'd ever seen him without his suit on. "Hey, hey, Park-o," he said, awkwardly fist-bumping Parker's shoulder.

"Heya, Dr. Sweets," he said, looking at Dad, who looked like he thought something was really funny. "We're going out for ice cream?"

"Yup. I figured Thomas Sweet."

He shrugged. "Sure. We can probably walk there even."

Sweets nodded. Bones looked — well, he couldn't read Bones. Dad now looked worried.

So he grabbed his coat and the two of them hiked down Q Street and up 32nd until they got to Thomas Sweet. Sweets did most of the talking, like normal, and made jokes with the ice-cream scoopers about how they should give him free ice cream because of his last name (the ice-cream guy, thank God, did not believe that Sweets was _actually _related to the founder).

"You knew they would never buy that, right?" Parker asked as he sat down with his Kitkat blend at a tiny table by the window.

"Yup," Sweets said. "I just thought it would be funny."

"It wasn't. That funny, I mean. I get why you think it would be, though."

Sweets just chuckled. "You know, you're assimilating some aspects of Dr. Brennan's personality."

He shrugged. That was kind of uncomfortable. "I spend a lot of time with her. Even more these days," he added sarcastically.

"Ah, yes, your mother's illness," Sweets said, pretending like that had just occurred to him even though it totally had been on his mind the entire time.

Parker rolled his eyes. Of course. That was why he was here. Annoyed, he said, "Don't pretend like you forgot, OK, Dr. Sweets? I know I'm 11, but I'm a really smart 11-year-old."

Dr. Sweets nodded, seriously. "Of course. Apologies." He took a noisy sip of his milkshake. "She's got surgery tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah. Her lungs, I guess. I talked to her tonight."

"How's she doing?"

He stopped playing with his ice cream and threw the spoon down. "You couldn't ask my dad about this?"

"I already have. I wanted to hear what you thought."

"Look — I'm sorry — I don't know — OK? I don't really want to talk about it, thanks."

"Ah," Sweets said.

"No, really, I don't. And I think it's pretty shitty of you to pretend to take me out to ice cream and then really just ask your really dumb questions." He remembered Dad's comment from Sophie's birthday party. "And isn't that illegal or something?"

"Parker. Hey," Sweets said. "Listen, I just wanted to make sure you were doing OK, that you knew you could talk to someone. … I know that your mom's sick, so you can't talk to her about it, and your dad's, well, Booth, so talking to him is kind of hard sometimes, and your stepmom is Brennan, so talking to her is sometimes impossible."

"Bones is great to talk to. What are you talking about?"

"See, that's interesting. You find Brennan easier to talk to than your father."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Bones just doesn't know to give me a fake, grown-up answer. Dad does."

"Alright, I'll ask you the grown-up question then. How are you feeling about your mother? Your dad says you hate visiting."

"Yeah, cause she's in the hospital. I don't like hospitals. Really, Sweets. It's pretty easy."

"That's it?"

"Yeah."

"So what happened at the christening the other day?"

"I … got upset." He straightened slightly, concentrated on his ice cream before setting down his spoon. "Look, Sweets, I'm fine. Thanks for … going shrink-y on me though. Can we go home? I'm not hungry anymore."

Sweets slurped his milkshake again (that was a habit that really annoyed Mom). "Parker, I've lost more parents than most people ever even have. I lost my biological parents, which was probably a good thing, but then I lost the parents that raised me. I get not being able to talk about things. I do. But I also get that talking actually does help make it better. Talking about it harder, but it's braver, too."

He rolled his eyes. "You know my dad, right? Talking isn't brave."

"Talking's about the bravest thing someone can do. That's why even your dad, who's the bravest person any of us knows, has trouble with it."

"Fine, whatever. I just don't have anything to say."

"Why do you hate the hospital so much?"

"Why do you think? How many colleges did you go to again?" He sighed. "It's only been two months, Dr. Sweets … Most days, when I wake up, I don't even remember that it's happening. I … like that."

"And the hospital makes you remember it's happening?"

"Yeah," he said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. The "duh" was just too obvious. "Sweets, I'm fine, really."

Sweets tried to ask him a few more questions, but then gave up and they just talked a lot about hockey and his suspension and school and Dad and stuff. He then walked him home, and Parker went up to his room and shut the door and pretended he couldn't hear Dad and Sweets murmuring about him.

The surgery the next day went OK — Brent texted him as soon as it was over and he and Dad went over after dinner. Mom was pretty out of it, and the doctors, through Brent, said that it went "as well as can be expected." They'd gotten most everything, and hopefully she could be recovered enough to start chemo up in a week or so again. She needed to let everything heal first. He stared at her. If he squinted, she disappeared from the bed.

She slept for most of that visit. He stared out the window on the car ride home and didn't talk much.

Looking back, years later, he would never remember those next few days. Mom was at the hospital for most of it, and it was mostly him and Brent chilling in the hospital — him doing his homework or whatever — and watching her sleep. The surgery had just taken a lot out of her, much more than her first surgery had: Her color got even whiter, if possible, and she was just … listless. Finally she got a little better so they took her home, where she slept most of the day and he avoided her when she was awake.

Finally, though, he had to go into her room to find his backup practice helmet. When he entered she shifted slightly on the bed, using her elbows to raise herself up. "Fancy running into you here," she quipped.

He shrugged. "I do live here. Sometimes."

"I know," she said, faltering a little. "I just … you never come in here."

"You never ask me too," he shrugged again.

"I … guess I just wanted you to come in," she said.

"I'm sorry," he said. "How … do you feel?"

She shrugged. "Up days and down days. A lot of the time I just feel hazy," she said. "How has hockey been? School? Your dad said you verbally smacked the Boy Wonder down over ice cream?"

He shrugged. Again. "It's been … OK. I finally get to play again for hockey. The bench has a permanent butt-print of mine so it's really good to be back."

"You haven't been fighting again, have you?" He shook his head. He was too tired to fight.

"So you start chemo up again Monday right?" he asked, toying with the edge of the blanket.

"I hope so," she said. "They have to run more tests. If I'm strong enough they will."

"Are you feeling strong enough?" he blurted out.

She shifted. "Honestly? I'm not sure they'll clear me for this week. Maybe next week."

"But you really need this."

"I know. I just don't think starting right now would be wise."

"It's not like it's going to kill you any faster than the cancer will."

He regretted the words almost as soon as they were out of his mouth. "I mean — I didn't mean — "

"It's OK, Parker," Mom said gently. "We can talk about this. We should talk about this. For the record, I'm not dead yet."

He was very quiet.

"Do you think I'm going to die?" she asked carefully.

"I don't know," he finally admitted. Because most days he thought he thought that. Some days he didn't. Most days, he just wanted everything to be over. "Some days? A … little. You just … you're not getting _better_, Mom."

And stupidly, again, like at the christening, he burst out into tears. Mom somehow immediately snatched him into her arms and he kept crying, as she kind of … rocked him, or whatever.

"I've read everything," he sniffled ugliliy. "Well… everything you guys will let me. And this treatment is supposed to _work_. And it isn't. So yeah … yeah, sometimes I think you're going to die. I … do."

"Oh, Parks," Mom sighed, her voice weak and uncertain. "Nothing is over yet. I don't give up fighting, you don't give up hope."

"Bones says hope is just an invention of your imagination."

"Maybe, but she doesn't believe that. No mother does, Parks. Trust me. Every mother has hope, has faith, every time she lets her child out into the world. Hope, faith, they're important. Don't give up yet, OK?"

"But … do you think you're going to die?" he finally dared. "Even though you're not going to give up fighting, do you think you're going to die?"

She was quiet, and taken aback. Shifting so he was leaning against her chest, she started rubbing her back. "It's … probably likely," she said. "I know that. But that doesn't mean I'm giving up fighting. I'm not focusing on it."

"It's all I can focus on," he admitted. "What do you think it feels like, dying?"

"I don't know," she said. "I imagine it's kind of … quiet. I don't think it will hurt. But I try not to think about it, honestly. I'm not scared for that."

"What are you scared for, then?" he asked.

"The usual. Not watching you grow up. Not being there for the big things. How everything affects you."

"You're not scared of anything else?"

"Not really, no," she said. "It's all about you, Parker. It always has been."

They sat there in silence for a while.

Two days later, he freaked Bones out a little by hiding in her darkened office again. "You need to stop doing this, Parker," she admonished.

"Sorry," he said, though he wasn't really. "What do you think dying feels like?"

"I don't know. Having never done it, and considering that nobody who has experienced death has been able to record their impressions of the event, I'm not sure … That's not what you wanted, was it?"

"No," he said. "Not really."

"This is about your mother?"

"Yes," he said. "She … she thinks she's going to die, too."

"I … Modern medicine makes sure that it isn't painful at the end," she said, sitting next to him. "I imagine that it's … quiet."

"That's the word she used, too." He rolled his eyes. "I think that sounds dumb, honestly."

"Maybe you should talk to your father," she prodded. "He usually has great insight on these matters."

He rolled his eyes. "Alright. Thanks, Bones." He got up to leave.

"Parker!" she called, and he turned. "I think … It's important to remember, Parker, that she isn't dead yet. That her life still has meaning and value right now. And … I know it certainly can't feel like it, but … you have a chance, to make what are potentially your last weeks with her, have a sense of … closure."

"Closure?" he laughed bitterly.

"I mean," she faltered. "You actually have a chance to say good-bye. Your father and I … never got that with our mothers. I know it doesn't feel like a … positive, but I … strongly encourage you to try and … One day, I hope you view it as a positive out of the entire situation. One day."

He was too tired to get mad at her for the ridiculous rudeness of that statement, though he really should have. "Fine, Bones," he said, closing the door behind him. He stared out the window in the hallway. It was snowing. First snow of the season.

* * *

Love it? Hate it? Let me know!


	15. How Strange it is to be alive at all

So, um, hi. It's been a while. I've missed you guys. I've missed this piece. Apologies for the (huge, inexcusable) delay in getting this written. I know I've left this hanging, and I totally get if nobody is reading/cares to read this any more. It's kind of an epically long thing, and it's pretty easily forgotten. But, if you're still interested, it's still here. I love this story (despite my flirtations in other realms lately) and I hope you still do too. I'm not crazy about this chapter and the way the ending plays/reads, in particular (I hate saccharine and it kind of feels saccharine), but I got this finished, finally, and I felt like I owed it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bones or the song "Life's a Song," by Patrick Park.

**Chapter Fourteen**

_**How Strange It Is Just to Be Alive At All**_

"Thanks for helping with this, Seel," Jared said, lifting another box. "You really didn't have to, what with everything going on with Rebecca."

Booth ignored the implication that if his ex-girlfriend weren't currently dying, he _would_ be obligated to spend one of his few barely-free weekends moving his brother into an overpriced Dupont townhouse. "Of course. It's a really nice place, Jare." And it was. Great location, on 17th and Q, quiet but still near plenty of good restaurants, a nice gym that Dylan would soon basically move into about two blocks away. The furniture had been delivered two days ago, but this was the first time that Booth had seen the place.

"Thanks," he grinned proudly. "Keep New Year's cleared, by the way. We're going to have a housewarming thing."

He grimaced. He wasn't certain, but he was pretty sure that Jared's was the seventh invitation he and Bones had received for ridiculous New Year's celebrations, most of them due to one or both of their jobs. "We'll pencil you in," he said. Personally, he just wanted to watch movies and eat popcorn at home.

"How, uh, how is Bex?" Jared asked tentatively.

Now Booth actually grimaced. "The surgery was on the 3rd," he said. "It, uh, didn't go too hot. The doctors told her a few days ago that it was, you know, terminal." He still had trouble wrapping his head around that idea.

"Meaning, it's going to kill her."

"Yeah," he said shakily. "She … we … haven't told Parks."

Jared nodded. "Come on. Let's go." He shoved the box away from his body and grabbed his leather jacket.

Five minutes later, they were at The Front Page, not Booth's favorite bar in DC by any stretch (largely because he did not love Dupont the way half of DC did), but it worked because it wasn't too boozy at this time of the day, so Jared wouldn't be completely tempted.

"How's she taking it?" Jared finally asked, sipping his water.

"I don't know," Booth replied. "She … she's Bex. She wants to handle this, without me. I mean, hell … I haven't even talked to her yet; Brent told me when I dropped Parks off yesterday." He and Bex had been over for _years_ and there was no love lost and there was absolutely no doubt that Bones was the best thing that had ever happened to him, but stuff like Becca cutting him out of crap like this often made the sting of her years-old rejection feel fresh. Becca's refusal of his proposal had come on at the end of his long, long skid during his 20s and early 30s, and had made him feel like a failure for _months_. And her refusing to talk to him about stuff like this, while he totally got it, was also very frustrating. It just compounded his feelings that he wasn't sure how to treat her — she had made it perfectly clear that he was just her ex-boyfriend, but then they had Parker, and years of tangled friendship/love/something-that-was-neither. He couldn't quite talk to Bones or Sweets or anyone else about it, but he wasn't sure if — and how — he should say goodbye. And he felt like saying goodbye was important. Plus, the not knowing what to do or how to act was really throwing him off. After all, he was Seeley Booth, and that meant something.

"Do they know _how_ terminal?" Jared asked.

"You either are terminal or you're not, Jared, it's not like it comes in degrees."

"I mean …" he hesitated, "terminal-by-Christmas, terminal, or, you know, everyone's-dying-one-day, terminal?"

He shrugged. "They offered her Hospice, which they only give when they think there's less than six months to go. So, June." He paused to thank the waitress as she dropped off their two Heidenbergers. "Personally, she's … I'm just really hoping she lasts a few more weeks." It was something he didn't really say out loud.

"Till Christmas?" Jared asked. "God, how's Parks taking Christmas, this way? And you? You _love_ Christmas."

It was true. If there was one irrefutable truth in the universe, it was that Seeley Booth loved Christmas. He loved taking Park and Soph to get the tree, loved decorating the house while singing off-key, loved driving two hours to pick up Hank to celebrate, loved the awkward conversations with eggnog-drunk Russ Brennan, loved Parker's aggrieved-almost-teenager hatred of Christmas, loved whining until Bones gave in and made him the special Christmas meatloaf, even loved Bones's rants about factory farming as she made the damned meatloaf.

But he wasn't sure how to handle this. Bones had sensibly proposed a joint Christmas thing, like Thanksgiving, but logistics weren't the problem. The problem was not making this the most depressing Christmas outside of Dickens while simultaneously making sure that Parker didn't get his hopes up and ask for a Christmas miracle, Cindy Brady-style.

"He's not taking it well. We'll probably do it altogether again —" Bones had called it '_Stepmom_ style,' and it was so weird of her to know a years-old chick-flick reference, "but he's not going to want to celebrate. He doesn't know about the diagnosis, but he … he thinks she's going to die, I'm pretty sure." Parks had been strangely calm since the surgery, but also very buttoned up. He didn't really talk to Booth, just really to Bones, which made Booth feel just a little adrift. He did his homework, rarely talked at dinner, called or visited his mom most days without an argument, but the fiery fight that had been boiling over since the diagnosis was gone. He'd accepted it, which was way worse than any of his mouthy outbursts from the last few months.

Just as Jared was shrugging sympathetically and he was biting into his burger, he got a text from Becca. _Free for coffee? My house_. Hmm.

"Gotta go," he said, throwing down more than enough to cover both of them.

"Work?" Jared asked, surprised.

"Nah, Bec." He raised his eyebrows and swayed a little on the balls of his feet.

"Whoa. Yeah, go."

"Awesome. Bones or I will call you and Dylan about dinner this week," he said.

The drive to Tenleytown was quick and painless, but he spent a good 10 minutes in her driveway, staring out the window, mentally psyching himself up for the visit, wondering what Becca possibly wanted. The day was one of those Saturdays streaked with D.C.'s pre-Christmas specialty combos of snow and slushy ice, and he couldn't help think it was a bad sign.

"Hey, Seel," she said, tiredly opening the door and stepping onto tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He could tell, by the look on her face, that she knew exactly how long he'd been waiting out there. Her petite frame was thinner than ever, her size-small T-shirt huge, even her leggings loose. "Come on in. Do you want tea?" There was no way she was more than 90 pounds. Her mussed hair was wrapped loosely in a scarf, like she'd been sleeping and just woken up. He used to think that the scarves were something cancer patients only wore on TV to cover the actresses' hair, but Bex had cultivated a collection.

"Nah, that's chick stuff," he said easily. "Can I brew up a coffee? You promised me coffee."

She shrugged. "You know where everything is." She led him into the kitchen, one hand lightly against the wall for support.

As he puttered around, pulling and stuffing filters, measuring out grounds, pouring in the water, he wondered how exactly to start the conversation. Luckily Bex started it. "How's work?" she asked. Okay, a non-starter.

"Work's good. Busy," he said neutrally, automatically checking his Blackberry. Just nine emails. "Kind of the usual." The task force thing was starting soon, there were at least 8 crises on a daily basis, an annoying pushy chick reporter kept calling him about domestic spying. Yep, the usual. "Where's Brent and Parker? Hockey?"

"Yeah," she said. "I asked Brent to take him to the mall afterwards to get him a new pair of basketball shoes."

He turned, curious. "Is everything alright?"

"Well, besides the fact that I'm _dying_," she said shakily, setting her teacup down. It clattered loudly, and a little liquid slopped over the side. She wiped it clean with her index finger.

"Hey, hey," he said, sitting down as soon as he could. "Bex, I'm …"

"Don't. Don't say you're sorry or … whatever. Please, just … don't," she said. "I'm trying to not think about it. You know, people, they sometimes get admitted to Hospice two, three times, they sometimes go years after a terminal diagnosis. So … don't. Besides, there are bigger things to worry about, to be scared about, than dying," she said, and she rearranged her features into something resembling impassivity. "Like this. We have something to talk about." She placed a manila envelope on the table, sliding a sheath of papers out. "I talked to my lawyer, like I said, he looked at everything and tightened it up a little. There's just … there's just some things that need your signatures."

"What do you mean, signatures?" his jaw tightened.

"Remember, from a few weeks back? I told you I was having the lawyer check everything out?" she said, slightly irritated.

"Yeah, but Bex, I figured that you'd have me call the guy or somethin'," he started, licking his index finger to thumb through the 40-some-page document.

"It's pretty basic stuff, just solidifying everything we talked about when we both got married," she said. "It's … you have sole custody, though I'd like … I'd like you to let Brent see him, when he wants. Temperance could adopt him pretty easily at that point … just in case something happens to you. If you two choose not to go that route, and something happens to you … Lisa gets him," she took a deep breath. "Then his college money, all my savings, whatever, anything, goes into a trust for him, with you and Sarah as joint executors, with the money released on his 18th, 21st, 25th, and 30th birthdays."

"No visitation for Brent?" he asked, taking a sip. It was a little weird. Plus, he wondered how Bones would take the suggestion. Somehow, he wasn't sure she'd be completely OK with it.

"The lawyer … the lawyer suggested that I not … that I not legally tie him to Parker. He says that if we want things to work out, he relationship needs to be mutually desired and not legally mandated. Given everything Parker's been through we don't want custodial complications. And I see his point," she said, taking a _very_ shaky breath. The implication hit him like a sucker-punch: The lawyer didn't trust Brent to stick around in Parker's life, and neither did Bex, apparently. Bones, on the other hand — "It's safer this way, apparently. Legally." Becca wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. "It'll also make it easier for Temperance to adopt him, if there's not a split custody thing to deal with. Anyways," she flicked her hand at the papers. "You know the drill."

"Bex, I'm …"

"Don't."

"Fine. Have you … talked to Brent?"

"Yes. No. Kind of. It doesn't matter." She shook her head a little, "Anyways. Please just sign these so I can take them back to the lawyer on Monday. He'll fax you over a copy." She stood up. "Thanks."

"You haven't talked to Brent about this?" That bothered him, though he didn't know why. Maybe he should talk to the guy.

"No, okay, Seeley? It's … really hard. I'm afraid … I'm afraid that once I'm gone, Parker being here, being an obligation, will just make him … sad. Remind him of things, stop him from moving on," she paused. "It's hard to ask him that question. It's hard to talk to him about that. Hell, it's even easier talking to you, since I barely like you, and I don't particularly want to talk to you right now. Brent, on the other hand, is my _husband_." She eyed Seeley warily. "And you can't talk to him either."

There wasn't really an answer to Rebecca's honesty. He glanced the documents over quickly, but he trusted Becca, and signed where the little neon-blue Post-It arrows told him to. "So, Christmas?" he said.

"Yeah. Why don't I get Parker in the morning and bring him over to you guys in the afternoon?" she asked.

"I was thinking … we do it like Thanksgiving," he said, standing too. "Get everyone together. I think he'll like that."

"I'll … I'll talk to him," she said, actually physically trying to push him out.

"Wait, Bec, _wait,_" he said, planting himself so she couldn't push him out. "Look, I know … I'm a complication for you. But I thought … I thought after all these years we were at least friends." That was kind of a stretch, and she looked like she was about to point that out, so he quickly continued, "And I want my _friend_ to know that I'm sorry, and what the doctors said this week sucks, and that I'm here, if she wants to talk." It sounded terrible, even to him.

She crossed her arms, uncrossed them, crossed them again. She sighed. "If I have weeks, months, left, I … don't want to have regrets. But I don't want to make a big deal out of it, you know? I don't want to be that person who holds their own funeral and writes letters to high-school frenemies forgiving them for sleeping with their boyfriend. I don't want to have this Moment where I settle things and then I live for another six months. Yes, I'm dying, no, I don't know when, no, I'm not sure I'm completely okay with it yet. I don't think I'm ready for … _that_ talk with you. So yes, I just don't know, Seeley."

He exhaled. He wanted to … he didn't know. He wanted all of this not to be happening. He wanted the diagnosis to be wrong. He wanted his smart-mouthed know-it-all ex who pushed him around and gave him hell about custody back. He wanted a lot of things. "Alright. You know where I'm at." He kissed her cheek and started to leave.

"Seeley," she called, and he turned. "I'm … I'm talking to Parker tomorrow night. Before he goes back to your house. I'm not going to say _terminal_ because it's not like there's a date, but I'm going to tell him about the latest results. I think … that shrink friend of yours would probably say we should all be there, right? Can you and Temperance both pick him up? I want to talk to him first but … after."

He nodded, unable to speak. "Of course," he managed.

She sighed. "I'm … I'm not okay with all this yet, but I will be," she said. "I … have to be. I know Parker is going to be taken care of and … that's what matters, so I'm okay. Ok?"

He paused. "Yeah," he said. "Okay."

He drove home, his jaw twitching every so often. Bones and Sophia were in the kitchen, Bones attempting to teach Soph how to stir cookie batter for Christmas cookies. It was funny only because Bones didn't have a domestic, well, _bone_ in her body, but she was completely enthusiastic and into baking anyways.

"Hey," she said, pulling Sophia off the chair she was standing on and moving over to kiss him. "Sidwell called — the student/parent interview they want to do is on Wednesday, is that good? I know the timing isn't ideal …"

He paused. He wasn't a huge fan of having Parks interview right now, what with Becca and all, but apparently there was no other way around this kind of private-school crap. "Yeah, I'll have Danielle clear my schedule," he said.

She tilted her head, smudging flour off Sophia's cheek. "Are you OK? Was Jared being an asshat again?" He almost had to laugh at the oddly formal, parroty way she aped the slang.

"Nah," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "I went over to Becca's… She had some papers for me to sign."

"Oh?" she asked. "What kind of papers?"

"Custody, stuff for what happens, stuff like that," he sighed.

"Didn't you two work that out when we got married?" Bones said, a little uncertainly. "I didn't … realize it was up for discussion."

"It's not, I signed everything. We'd … discussed it, but this just makes it permanent. Legal mumbo-jumbo."

"Are you going to have Caroline look it over?"

"She's a prosecutor."

"I know. Are you going to have Caroline look it over?" Bones smirked, watching as Sophia ran off.

"Probably," he sighed. "Anyways. We … need to talk." Bones cocked her head. "Becca … is talking to Parker tomorrow about the terminal diagnosis. She thinks we both need to be there."

"That … sounds appropriate," Bones said, still giving him a look. "I think it'll help Parker." He wasn't quite sure where her changed attitude had come from this past month, but he was grateful. "There's something else, though. You're carrying your shoulder oddly."

He shrugged off this observation, because it was so _Bones_, to think that something's off not because of his face or anything but because of how he was carrying his damned shoulder.

He hesitated. "Becca … Becca's not giving Brent any visitation rights, anything, in the will," he started.

"Oh."

"She says … she says that the lawyer says it has to be mutual, you know, Brent and Parker, continuing to be in each other's lives. She's worried that Parker will … upset Brent. Remind him of her, you know. She's afraid he won't want to stick around."

"I don't see why he wouldn't. He's been around for years at this point. Longer than me."

"No, not longer than you," Booth said, temporarily distracted. "They didn't start dating till we'd been together for about two and a half years."

"They were married for two years before we started dating," Bones pointed out.

"Ok, maybe, whatever, kind of, but not the point," Booth said. "I think he'll be around, I see her thing about not obligating him, but that's not the point."

"What is the point?"

"If something happens to me," he started, "if something happens to me, then Parker goes to Aunt Lisa."

"I didn't think he liked Aunt Lisa."

"He doesn't. She's horrible." How Becca, who was tolerable, if formerly flaky, was related to Sarah and Lisa was still beyond him.

"Then that makes no sense."

"She's been his backup legal guardian since he was born."

"If … something happened to you and you died in a few years, and he was living with _us_, wouldn't it make sense for him just to stay with me? Especially since he's always lived here and Lisa lives in New Jersey?"

"Delaware."

"Still. Wouldn't it be better for him to stay in DC if you die?"

"Who says I'm dying?"

She shrugged, looking pretty uncomfortable. "You have a dangerous job and a propensity for unnatural heroics. It's a possibility that I've considered far, far too many times."

He was a little taken aback. "Bones, now that _you're_ out of the field — no heroics."

"Still," she looked surprisingly agitated. "But that still doesn't answer the question: Why couldn't he just stay with me? Or even with Brent?"

"Well," he started, "you'd have to adopt him."

Bones went quiet. "I can't just be made his legal guardian?"

He shook his head — he actually knew this answer. "For that you'd have to wait until I'm dead, and any rights you'd have would end when he turned 18, so he'd be responsible for himself at that point."

"How is that any different from the rights Lisa in Delaware would have over him?"

He shrugged, unclear. "I'm not sure, not a lawyer. I could see if I could change my will and make you the legal guardian instead of Lisa, but that's not really the point." Or at least it wasn't his point.

"Then what is the point?"

"That adoption feels more permanent than 'legal guardian,'" he argued. "It's more secure."

"Legally, there's no difference," she said, and he realized that she would definitely know, given her childhood. "For instance, Hank was your legal guardian, he didn't adopt you."

"Yeah, you know, I really don't want my history repeating with Parks," Booth said. "And it _feels_ different, not that it is different. That's what's important. It feels more official."

"You want me to adopt Parker, once Rebecca is dead?" she asked.

He flinched a little, but stayed firm. "Yeah. Yeah, I do," he said.

"Can I think about it?" she finally said.

He sighed. "Yeah, Bones." He'd expected that. He wasn't quite mad, but disappointed. Knowing Bones, it was probably just that she was worried about Rebecca.

"I just need to consider it," she insisted.

"I know. You wouldn't be Bones if you didn't." He said it without any acrimony. It was true.

"Alright," she said. "We made Christmas cookies. You should have some." She trailed off after Sophia slowly, a little unsure.

Later that night, as they lay in bed, Bones asked, "Booth?" real softly.

"Yeah Bones?" he croaked, shifting to face her.

"What are we telling Parker tomorrow?" she whispered.

"I … don't know," he said.

"Are you okay with that?" she asked, perching her head on her hand.

"I don't know," he finally said. "Whatever Bec wants."

"It's just … that's not something you're usually comfortable with, and you've been off the last few days, so I just wanted to … check."

He shifted so he was on his back, flexed his shoulder blades against his pillow. "I don't know. She … doesn't want sympathy, and doesn't want help, so I … don't know what to do. She says she's coming to terms with it, but I think she's just … angry, and she won't talk to anyone about it. Even Brent."

"I'd be pretty mad if I were her," Bones acknowledged. "It's nothing to do with you, you know."

"I know, it's just …"

"You don't like not knowing what to do."

"It's not just that, it's more than that …" he struggled to find the right way of putting this.

"Can you … tell me?" she asked.

"I'm not … You know that I'm crazy, can't live without you, kind of forget what I'm thinking when you walk in a room and smile at me, want to be with you when I'm 90, in love with you, right?"

She giggled throatily, nudging him with her ankle. "I know, Booth." She looped her foot around his calf.

"Good. Just in case I don't tell you enough," he stroked her cheek. "It's just … Becca and me, we're ancient history. And you know that. But right now … she doesn't know how she wants to be treated, or treat me, but … I don't know, either. I care about her but she's not my friend, I mean, we hardly ever talked before she got sick. And I don't know what to think about her, or say, and it just … it sucks. All around. And tomorrow we're basically telling Parker to forget it, there's no hope, and he's _eleven_ and it's his _mom_, you know?"

"Yes. I do," she said. "Parker is a … bond that's unable to be replicated, between you and Rebecca. And even if you haven't been romantically involved, or even really friends, for well over a decade, she's important to you. She's important to me, because Parker's important to me. But given the anthropological newnesss of the convoluted familial bonds at play, I don't think there is a socially sanctioned appropriate response. Whatever you do, you do, and that's okay. You just … you have to be okay with that ambiguity."

"What do you think I should do?"

"Among which options?"

"I … don't even know," he shifted. "If she was a friend, I would let her do her own thing. Visit when she wanted, stay out of her hair otherwise. If I were a good friend, I'd try to help her out, bring her things, talk her through stuff. If it were you — well, god, Bones, I don't even want to think about that."

She was quiet. "For what it's worth, I don't think she fears death anymore, not the way you do."

"I'm not scared of dying," he started, but was silenced with one of her looks.

Ignoring him, she continued, "I think she's mostly scared for Parker, and worried that it'll hurt, and scared about leaving people behind," Bones said slowly. "Her response has shifted to essentially dealing solely with Parker's well-being. So, if I were giving advice, I would say … just try and make sure she knows Parker's taken care of. And then otherwise just … try and be considerate of what you think she would want. You're good with people, Booth. You're good with Rebecca. And she trusts you, she's not scared of leaving you the way she's probably worried about Brent and Parker."

Silence hung between them for a minute. "I'm sorry I ever accused you of not understanding people," he finally cracked.

"I don't understand most people, not one-on-one, not usually," she confessed. "But you — I get you, I think. I want to understand you. And Parker, I get Parker. And Rebecca … I can put her together easily, right now. As a scientist, a mother, as someone who cares about Parker, I can understand that."

He looked at her wonderingly, trying to figure out when Temperance Brennan had become his rock. About a decade ago, he decided. He kissed her temple once more before falling asleep.

The next day, he waited till his breath turned frosty and Bones nudged his arm before knocking on the door to Rebecca's. Brent opened it, somewhat deferentially. "Bex and Parker have been upstairs for about a half hour now," he said. "Would you … like anything to drink?"

"I'd love some tea," Bones said. "In fact, I'll get it. Booth, mint tea?"

"Bones, that's girly," he groused.

"It's good for you," she replied, disappearing into the kitchen.

"So, ah, how's it going?" he finally asked Brent.

The other man shrugged. "As well as it can be, I guess," he said slowly. Brent was a few inches shorter than him, a little stocky, with spiky dirty-blonde hair. He was a former minor-league baseball player, and for some reason he looked like it, though Booth could never explain _how_.

"You still working?" Booth ventured.

Brent stiffened. "I take care of Rebecca, Seeley," he said.

Booth was a little taken aback. "Hey, man, I know," he said.

"And Parker, too," Brent added. "I'm crazy about the kid."

"He's a great kid," Booth agreed. "He … really, you know, loves you too."

"Becca and I talked about the will," Brent said. "I want to see him."

"Of course. Absolutely, yeah. We'll work something out." Even though Brent had freaked and flaked in the face of cancer, he was still a good guy. Really. Booth just didn't particularly trust him to stay around — no fault of his own, but it was going to happen.

"You know, I'm not really crazy about the two of you talking about me like I'm dead already," Becca called drily from behind them. "It can give a girl a complex," she smiled cheekily.

They turned. "Hey, Bex," Seeley said tiredly, as Brent kissed her temple. Bones wandered in, handing him a large mug of the damned green tea.

"Did you talk to Parker, Rebecca?" Bones asked.

Rebecca nodded, her face tight and white. "Yeah. He — took it a little hard. He asked me if I was dying. I said I didn't know, but it didn't look good. He's — he's upstairs." She sniffed a little. "He — he wants to talk to Bones."

Bones looked surprised, then shook her head firmly. "No. No. He is a minor whose prefrontal cortex is still underdeveloped."

"What?" Brent asked.

"She's saying he doesn't know what he wants," Booth translated. "Bones, c'mon …"

"No. He doesn't have a choice. You need to go talk to him, Booth."

So, a little reluctantly, he climbed the stairs up to Parker's room. When he cracked the door, he saw Parker lounging moodily on the bed, a blue glow from his laptop illuminating his face. "Hey," he said dully. "I asked for Bones." His face was dry, impassive. That fact that Parker had remained almost absolutely stoic for the last four months impressed — and scared — Booth.

"I know, she's downstairs. She thought I should talk to you first," Booth said uncertainly.

"Well, all I really wanted to talk about was treatment stuff. So. I guess I'll go downstairs and talk to her there," he shifted, shutting his laptop.

"Really? That's all you wanted to talk about?"

"Yes. I want to make sure that the doctors really knew what they're talking about," Parker shifted up. "Because they haven't been right about much so far. They didn't catch it, they didn't treat it right, they could be wrong here. There could be … something else, you know."

"Parks …" he said, settling on the bed. But then he stopped. "I'm sorry. About all this. Do you have any questions? Non-squinty things your old man can handle? You can talk to me, you know." His voice took on a whine slightly more plaintive than he would have liked.

Parker was quiet. "Where do you go, when you die? Like, your body."

Booth sighed. Of _course_ Parker would start out with a question like that. Of course. Booth believed your soul went to heaven, your body stayed on earth, the whole Catholic canon. But Parker lately had been pretty reticent to accept things on faith and, especially, to deal with the more stringent aspects of religion. Booth got that, he did — everything that Parker was supposed to just take on faith just wasn't that present — but it made explaining these things tough.

"I'm … not sure," Booth started. "And I really don't think we should be thinking about that right now."

Parker sighed. "I just want answers, Dad. Honestly."

"Well, I don't know, bub," he said, thinking of what he had felt after his own mother had died. He'd been a little older, the circumstances had been a little different, but still. "But the thing that's really important — and I mean _really_ important — is that nobody's ever really gone, so long as you keep thinking about them. If, when your mom goes, when I go, the thing that's important is that you keep thinking about that person. To keep remembering them. To wonder what they'd think. That's the important part. That's how they stay around. I … still think about your grandma, you know. A lot."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I think you two would have gotten along," he smiled. "She liked pranks. Little pranks, you know, like the stuff that makes you laugh." Truthfully, the facts surrounding his mother had faded, over the almost thirty years since her death, the details dissolving at the corners. He remembered sounds, shapes, smells, but, rarely, anything concrete about her. He remembered even less about the days and weeks after her death. Those were facts, though, that he would never share with Parker.

"Do you ever think about dying?"

"All the time. You know my old job. Bones's old job." It was a dodge, but a truthful one. All he thought about these days was death and dying.

"No, I mean, what it feels like. To die."

Booth tightened his grip on the edge of Parker's comforter. This was the closest they'd ever come to discussing his past as a sniper. "I … don't know. I … think it's quick."

Parker nodded, his Adam's apple tight. "We should get going," he said, heavily. "I wanna go home."

Becca looked concerned, but let him go pretty easily. They detoured to Ben's for dinner but as they walked into their home later that evening, Parker suddenly slipped one arm around him, and his other around Bones. They both leaned into him in response, almost lifting him up.

Parker basically didn't speak for the next three days.

"He's honestly pretty numb," Sweets analyzed over burgers a few days later, as they caught up with Sweets' latest report. "All things considered, he's asking a lot of questions, not getting into too much trouble, still somewhat engaged with his mom. But it seems like he's shutting down a little to cope."

"And that's a good thing?"

Sweets shrugged. "It's a normal thing. It's going to get worse before it gets better. When's his Sidwell interview?"

Booth grimaced. "Tomorrow," he said. "I mean, I'm worried about it — sorry," he checked his cell phone as it started to buzz. Damn. It was Hannah Whatserface, the reporter that wouldn't stop bugging him. How the hell she'd gotten his number, he had no idea. "I should get this interview, before it blows up in my face," he said.

Sweets nodded. "Sure, yeah, take your time."

The interview was pretty stagnant — basically all he could do was refer her to the press office and the general counsel — and he was quickly back to his pie. "So this Sidwell interview," Sweets prompted.

"What about it?"

"Do you want it to go well?"

He shrugged. Honestly he hadn't actually given the whole public-private school debate thought in weeks. "I want what's best for Parker and Sophia," he finally said. "If this is it, then yes." He paused. "I'm just worried about too much changing for Parker at once."

Truthfully, it was a lot to change for him too.

The interview went well; it barely registered for Parker, who was sent to his own room to interview. He, Bones, and Becca — who he hadn't expected to be well enough to attend but she was; just wrapped in about a dozen cardigans — were taken to a conference room with huge windows overlooking the barren, icy grounds. It would be a gorgeous view in the spring. Booth wasn't really paying much attention either; he talked mostly about how his job was dangerous and he'd prefer if Parker were somewhere safer than a public school with cops and a metal detector. Becca talked some about the changes Parker was going through and how the stable school community appealed to her. Afterwards they took a tour, and Booth couldn't help but catch Becca's lingering, wistful looks as she stared around.

Bones had to dash back to the museum after the interview, so he was alone with Becca and Parker. They'd called Parker out of an entire day of school for this, and suddenly it was only 1:00 and he needed to get back to work but he felt like this was an opportunity he shouldn't waste, and he didn't know what to do.

"So what did you guys think?" he said as they left the pristine, secured campus.

Parker picked at the hem of his shirt. "I liked it," he finally said, and Booth could hear the honesty in his voice. Parker had loved his friends, loved Janney, had been excited for Deal, but now, he'd confessed to Bones a few weeks earlier, all his friends knew him as the kid whose mom was dying. He no longer liked going over to his friends' houses after practice, after school. His teachers were treating him differently. Booths weren't conspicuous men. Parker would be sad to leave and scared for a new school but was also ready for a fresh start.

Becca nodded. "It's pretty perfect," she said, and there was no bitterness in her voice.

He nodded too. "I liked it," he finally admitted. "We'll see. Anyone up for ice cream?"

Becca wasn't (it's _December_, Seeley), but she was up for cupcakes, so after a pit stop on M Street he drove them back to Becca's, where Parker was staying for the week, to grab his hockey gear and drop off Becca.

As Parker was running in to get his stuff for practice Becca hung back for a second. "So, Christmas," she said. "It's a week away."

"Yeah," he breathed. "How do you want to handle it?"

"Honestly?" she said. "Can you drop Parker off after Mass" — that had been his thing with Parker, always — "and then he can do Christmas morning with us, then we do a big lunch, with all of us, around two or three maybe, and then you take him for presents at your place?"

He nodded. "Sure. Are you going to be up for cooking?"

"I'll order in," she said. "And — can you bring him back to sleep at my place that night? It can be later."

He nodded. "Sure."

"Are you guys still planning on going to Italy?" They usually took a trip the week after Christmas; last year they'd taken the kids to Argentina.

He shook his head. "Not this year."

"That works then," Becca said, slowly. "Alright."

"Okay," he said.

"And I do — I do really liked the school," Becca added. "I can't believe my kid might end up going to the same school that the president's kids do, though."

He grunted in agreement. "We've come a long way, haven't we? South Philly for me, Trenton for you …"

"I think my mom would be amazed," she smiled. "Anyways. Here comes Parker. Max's mom is bringing him back after practice. Have a good day at work." She slowly lifted herself from the car.

It wasn't a good day — a car bomb exploded outside Miami International that afternoon, so he spent the next few days basically living at work and trying not to verbally flip off any reporters on CNN. Without even noticing, it was suddenly Christmas Eve. Parker had spent most of the week after his interview with Becca, who had miraculously been feeling better; Bones was supposed to pick him up since he was stuck with Homeland Security. She'd been busy at work, he knew, and he felt guilty for her having to do so much at home lately but — terrorists. Airport. Bombing.

When he arrived home, with barely 10 minutes to spare before leaving for Christmas Eve Mass, even he had to admit that he looked like shit and probably a little like a madman. As he scooped Soph up for a kiss, she wonderingly rubbed at his five o'clock shadow before wrinkling her nose and twisting herself down from his embrace. "I know, baby," he said in response. He looked over at where Bones (who still refused to go to Christmas Eve Mass, claiming it felt like lying, even if she couldn't articulate_ who _she was lying to) was sitting by the tree, carefully adding bows and tags to a pile of last-minute presents. "Parker's upstairs," she said. "We were a little late picking him up from Rebecca's so I told him to take a shower first."

"Sounds good," he said, scooping Soph up again, just to make her giggle. "Don't you look pretty, baby girl? Don't you look pretty?"

"Silly daddy," she laughed, again pushing at his beard.

"I got the message loud and clear, Soph, you want daddy to shave," he giggled, rubbing the beard just under her chin.

"Tickles, daddy, lemme down," she giggled, again escaping with the skill of a Houdini.

"She's growing up," Booth smiled as the girl ran to Bones, who scooped her up and sat her on her lap to help with the bows.

After a quick change of suit (despite Sophia's preferences, there was no time for a shave), he quickly rapped on Parker's door with a "Yo, Park! We gotta get."

There was silence, then he could practically hear the eye-roll. "I'm not going, Dad," he yelled. "Have fun."

"What the —" Booth made a move to open the door, only to find it locked. "The hell, Parks? Open the goddamn door and get your ass out here, alright?"

"I _told_ you, I'm _not_ going!" Parker yelled back.

"Parker, this isn't a matter of discussion. Get — your — ass — out here, right now, or I will break down your door."

There was a silence. Booth contemplated how dads who didn't have a police badge and the resources of the FBI behind them parented teenagers. Finally, there was a click, and Parker's slimming face appeared. "Bones doesn't go because she thinks it's dishonest when she doesn't believe in God, I don't believe in God either, right now, so I'm not going either." He quickly relocked the door before Booth, speechless, could formulate a thought.

Bones appeared at the end of the hallway, probably having heard his commotion, then quickly assessed the situation. As Booth futilely pounded the door some more, she finally said, "Look, why don't I talk to him? You take Sophia, go to Mass, I'll talk to him."

"Because he'll listen to you," he said, without thinking. It wasn't meant to be vicious; honestly, Parker kinda listened to Bones more these days, and that goddamned _hurt_: Not only was Parker his first (though he would never say that; barely admit to thinking it), but Parker was a _son_ and sons and fathers were supposed to have a bond.

Hurt flickered briefly across her face, but she remained composed. "I don't know if he will," she said, "But right now what he wants is to make you angry and to make you late for Mass, and he's accomplishing both of them right now. So yeah, you go and I'll see what I can do."

He knew she was right, so he just rolled his eyes, grabbed Soph, and quickly kissed Bones on the cheek. Slightly irritated, she grabbed his sleeve and pulled him down for a longer kiss. A little debased, he left for Mass.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it was not for Bones and Parker to slip into his pew halfway through "O Little Town of Bethlehem," with Parks in a suit and Bones in a green velvet wrap dress that made her hair look shiny. Parker even leaned over, on his tiptoes a little, and said, "I'm sorry, Dad." Un-freaking-real.

"What did you say to him," Booth said, later, sitting on their bed with his tie and shirt undone.

Bones had been in their closet, came out with her dress half-unwrapped and her gold dangly earrings in her hands. She shrugged, placing the jewelry on the dresser. "I offered to go with him. I said … I don't know. I said that right now we do things to help out our family, even if we don't necessarily believe in those institutions anymore, and that maybe by doing that, we see if it helps us feel any better too." She sat down, a knee on either side of his thighs, hands looped around his neck for support. "If his one argument was that I wasn't going I figured I would remove that."

"Why'd you have to send me away, though?" he groused, cupping her waist to steady her.

She shrugged. "I don't know, Seeley. It's just … you're both angry, these days. Angry all the time, at everything. Hopeless. Rebecca said, once, that the only thing Parker wants to do is to grow up to be like you and that she didn't want that, and I didn't get it but … it's true. Parker's _exactly_ like you, in temperament, and he wants to grow up to be _exactly_ like you, but, Seeley … you went through some terrible things as a child, as a teenager, as a young man; and a mother … she doesn't want her own child to go through those things. It's selfish, but it's true. And right now, Parker's trying to make himself suffer, he's trying to make everything hard for himself. And the easiest way to do that, that _he_ can control, is to make you angry and pick a fight." She stroked his shoulder a little, curling and uncurling her fingers against his trapezius. "So I'm sorry, because I know you think I … interfered. And that you think I'm trying to take Parker …"

"I don't think you're trying to take Parker," he interrupted, but everything else was kind of spot-on. And he couldn't help but be a little happy that Bones had, indirectly, referred to herself as Parker's mother. It was complicating, but still. It was there.

"But you're … angry that I defused a situation with him?"

"I'm angry that he seems to be preferring you," he finally confessed. "I mean, hell, Bones … I can't even keep Parker in line."

She nodded. "He'll come around, Booth. He's angry. But he's not mad at you."

"I know," he nodded, kissing her temple. He got a good look at her. She looked _tired. _He felt overwhelmed with guilt — just add Bones to the list of people he wasn't helping. "I like that … I do like that you're good with him," he ventured.

She shrugged. "I just tried to calm him down. I think I did. I told — I told him that you needed him, too. That … you're having a hard time with this too. He knows, he's just … tired. Booth, he's tired."

"Me too, Bones. Me too." He paused for a second. "How are you?" he asked.

She looked up. "Less tired than you two," she finally replied. She kissed him, then climbed out of his lap. "You two — I think you'll be fine. I really do."

"Doctor Temperance Brennan, taking things on faith?" he teased.

She colored, just a little. "This is based on past observances of your behavior," she retorted, before smiling, and going back into the closet. When she emerged — in a red teddy, a Santa hat, a nervous smile, and a _Merry Christmas _— all thoughts of Parker were quickly chased away.

The next morning, after letting Sophia unwrap one present, they headed over to Tenleytown. Becca had been on a bit of an upswing since the Sidwell interview; she was hopeful, a little. Her color was a little better, she'd gained a few pounds, was wearing a pretty silver and black dress with leather boots. She still wore about six cardigans, but even they were festive. When they entered, there was some jazzy Christmas stuff playing from the entertainment center.

"Looking good, Bex," he said, kissing her cheek.

"Feeling good, Seel," she beamed back.

The dinner was just the parents, Parker, and Sophia; they had plans with Jared, Dylan, and Hank that night, her family and Brent's were all in town on the 26th, Bones' family would be coming the weekend of New Year's, though hopefully leaving by the evening of the 31st so Booth could finally freaking sleep. Becca's good mood at her good health seemed to rub off on everyone, and Parker seemed lighter, somehow. Afterwards, there were presents — lots of presents. He and Bones had gotten stuff for Becca and Brent, that was traditional, and they'd even gotten some clothes and toys for Sophia as well, which was nice.

"Seeley —" Becca hesitated, "Seeley, I left your gift upstairs. It was too big to carry down. Come with me?"

"Sure," he said. Sophia was on his lap, so he passed her to Bones, who barely looked over as he kissed her cheek — she was pretty busy listening to Brent and Parker explain Madden to her.

Becca took the stairs deliberately, and led him to the guest room (which was mostly used for storage, anyways), where she immediately took a seat in the oversized armchair. She couldn't stand for long stretches of time anymore. "It's silly, I know, but I — I didn't want to give you this stuff … in front of Temperance and Brent," she bit her lip.

At some earlier — much earlier — point in his life, he would've expected a really hot striptease. Instead, he waited, a little awkwardly, until she pointed at a stack of unwrapped photo albums, topped by a thin wrapped package, sitting in the corner. "First, those — those are for you," she finally said.

He picked them up, finally chose to sit on the ottoman. She curled her feet a little more to make room for him. "These are — these go way back," she said. "Some are for you, and some — some I want you to keep for Parker."

"Aw, come on, Bex, I thought you were having a good week," he groaned.

She looked him straight in the eye, kind of looking like Bones a little. "That's not going to stop the inevitable, Seeley," she said. "It just makes … it makes today better."

He opened the first one. He actually remembered it. Becca's mom had been way into photos and scrapbooking, had use all those girly borders and stupid stickers and thought bubbles, building those real elaborate things. This one was probably one of those, filled with pictures of the two of them — younger, happier, unburdened by life, bad-haired — smiling at each other. In one, he had picked her up and thrown her, fireman-style, over his shoulder, with the other fist pumping the air. He remembered that day — pick-up game of football against her burly half-Polish half-Irish cousins. He flipped to the next page. Them slow-dancing at Sarah's wedding. Napping, cuddled together, in her mom's house. He flipped again. Her, four months pregnant, showing off the ultrasound to her mom.

"I know — I know when I turned you down, that you thought it was about you. About how you weren't a good provider, how your shit really wasn't together," she started. "I just wanted to say — it was me. It wasn't you. Or, it wasn't all you, and that I'm — I'm sorry, if I blamed you for things over the last decade. For making things harder. You're a good father, Seeley. Just don't … don't feel so guilty all the damned time, OK? I trust you. Parker's going to turn out great and that's — that's going to be on you."

His eyes were a little wet. Dammit. "No, Bex," he said, "That'll all be on you."

He picked up the next book. A Parker baby album. "He was such a fat baby," Rebecca murmured. "I was worried." Together they silently flipped through the next several years of Parker's life, though the albums stopped around age seven. "And this one — this one I found," she said, finally handing him the wrapped package. It didn't take an FBI badge to know it was a picture.

It was, but one that he hadn't seen before. Parker must've only been a few months old — Becca would barely let him see the kid, let alone spend the night — but he was cradled against Seeley's chest, both of them totally zonked out. Booth wore a Steelers muscle T, and Parker had onesie that read, "Someone who loves the Steelers loves me." They had identical expressions on their faces.

"I took this photo, I just never gave it to you," she said. "I remember walking past the couch and at first being angry that you'd fallen asleep while holding the baby, and then I was just — I don't know. Struck. And even if we weren't together and we weren't ever going to be together, we had this kid together, and that was amazing and I — I just took the picture. And I held onto it, even if those days weren't exactly easy, you know? It was just — you gave me something really, really good, Seeley. And this photo always reminded me of that. Even when you were being a total jackhole."

He hugged her, fiercely, then; there weren't any words, really. He didn't know why, but somehow, even though he should be fighting Becca, arguing with her to _stop thinking this way_, her words were a balm.

They settled back into the couch cushions, arms crossed, not touching. "I lost him once, you know," he said, finally able to confess a years-old sin. It must've been Christmas, 2005. The year he was four, y'know? It was the year I was locked in that damn lab with Bones all Christmas. I was running all over the Macy's right by the FBI building and the only thing I could think was, _Christ, Becca's going to take my gun and shoot me_," she smirked a little, next to him. "And you know where I found him? In the jewelry area, trying to charm the lady into giving him a necklace to give to you."

He could feel her smile against his shoulder. "I bet it almost worked, too," she said.

"I mean, Becca — I gave you just as much crap as you gave me. I wasn't — I wasn't the nicest guy to be around, the easiest guy to be around. I was … angry, a lot, and …"

She shook her head. "You know what? None of it really matters now, does it?" She turned. "Anyways. That's your second gift." She pointed to the corner.

"Your rocking chair?" he said. Becca's father had been a recreational carpenter; had built the rocking chair for Becca when Parker was born.

"Yeah," she said. "I'd always planned on rocking Parker's siblings in it; you two should use it. For Sophia. For the next one, if there is one." Her voice was matter-of-fact. There was nothing wistful or hard about it.

He swallowed. "It's a beautiful rocker," he finally said. It was.

"Mom? Dad?" Parker knocked, then opened the door. "Sorry, Brent and Bones just want to know if you want any of the cheesecake? They're about to split the last slice."

"No, they can go ahead," Mom said. "C'mere, Parks, take a look at these."

"Whaddaya got?" Parker clambered up.

"Baby books," Becca said, and laughed when Parker wrinkled his nose. "Come on, you were cute."

"I was a fat baby," Parker countered.

"Yeah, that too," Seeley snorted.

Parker sat between them, and for a few quiet minutes they just flipped through baby pictures as Parks groaned and faked total horror. After two books, though, he said, in a voice that made it clear the idea surprised him too, "Let's take a picture. Right now."

It was Becca's turn to groan. "Pa-arks."

"Come on," Parker said, fishing the camera out from Becca's messy bed. "Family picture. Well —" he paused to correct himself, "a picture."

"We're a family, still, always, Parks, you know that," Booth said, but his words didn't matter, because Parker was climbing back between the two of them, angling the camera up, instructing them to _say cheese_. They obliged, because that's what parents did. Parker smiled when he saw the image. "Not bad," he said.

Becca peeked at it too. Smiled. "Not bad, at all."

He left the two of them alone for a bit, went downstairs to talk to Soph and Bones. They had to get going pretty soon, the four of them, anyways; had to get home for Hank and Jared and Dylan (why Jared couldn't host the freaking meal for once, he'd never know). As soon as Parker and Becca, both with slightly wet eyes, traipsed down the stairs again, Brent started Bones and Parker pack up the car, leaving Booth alone with Becca, one last time.

"Becca —" he started, but she held up a hand.

"Don't, Seeley," she said, kissing him lightly on the cheek. "Today was nice. Really nice."

"It was," he said. "I'll bring him back over tonight, ok, then pick him up on the 29th, alright?"

"Sounds good. Just — take care of him, OK? Promise me that. Don't let … don't let him …"

"I won't," he said, hugging her again. "Bye, Bex. Merry Christmas."

"Bye, Seeley. Merry Christmas."


	16. Between all you wish for & all you seen

Told you I was back! Thanks to everyone who's still paying attention to this story; I really appreciate it. This one is short and (bitter)sweet, to counteract the last, insanely long chapter (19 pages vs. 3? Yes please). This is the crux of the story; while everything changes from here on out, as I said, this isn't the end. Please read and review! Let me know if I've done the story up to now justice.

As always, I don't own _Bones_, or the song "In the Sun," by Joseph Arthur.

_**Chapter Fifteen**_

_**Caught in Between All You Wish For and All You Seen**_

New Year's Day, for most people, was a day of hope and optimism, of planning for the year ahead. Shedding the past, setting new goals: Lose weight, leave the loser, fall in love, get the grades. For Rebecca Jean Stinson Knowles, it was the day she finally understood it. She was dying. She would be dead soon, probably within the month, probably even sooner. Her body was beginning to do what her Hospice counselor had called "actively dying." She realized, in her talks with Brent and Parker and her sisters and Seeley, that she was slowly going through the steps of dying: apologizing, offering forgiveness, giving thanks, expressing love, saying goodbye. She'd mostly taken care of Seeley and her sisters by Christmas, she was pretty sure; she'd started doing the same thing with Parker and Brent. On New Year's Day — she'd gone to sleep early, early the night before, having nothing really to look forward to — she realized, with sudden and striking clarity, that she had only days left.

It was tough, to say good-bye to Brent. He was the love of her life. He made this easier, he made her laugh, they'd planned a whole life together, and they were both losing that future. He was the person that she dreaded saying good-bye to the most; it was the task she'd been avoiding most. The other people in her life, they just didn't matter as much, and that made it easier.

But at the same time, her major preoccupation, the one thing she felt she had to hang on for, that she was thinking about and planning about and worrying about, was Parker's well-being. And that wasn't in Brent's hands, no. That was in Seeley's, a man she hadn't cared for, barely even liked, for the past decade.

That split — to have the only thing she truly cared about left in the arms of a man she didn't love — felt akin to having a heart outside a body. She wanted the heart nestled snug in its rib cage, but it wasn't, it was dangling and delicate and exposed and just out of her control. So of course she didn't talk about it with Brent.

She worried about Parker. Oh, God, did she worry about Parker. She worried about how this was eating him up. She worried about what kind of upheaval this would cause in his life. She worried about leaving him permanently with Seeley and Temperance, him slipping into this perfect Washington fairy-tale life they were rapidly carving out for themselves. Sidwell, Blue Ribbon Commissions, press conferences, book tours, New Year's Eve parties at the Attorney General's house. She was worried he would forget her. She was worried he wouldn't forget her.

Christmas had assuaged her fears, a little. She'd had Parker all morning, had watched home videos of Christmases past with him on Christmas Eve; had taken a photo with him and Seeley — Parker's family — after she'd given the rocking chair to Seeley. That had been an impulsive, unintentional gift — she'd intended only to give him the photo albums, which were really for Parker — but had pushed that gift on top, wanting something else, something physically and tangibly _her_, in that house, that family, that Parker would soon become a full member of. The two of them had finally had a talk, a good talk, and she felt like she'd finally gotten one aspect of the whole "parenting while dying" thing right.

_"I just … I hate this. I hate to see you like this, and see Dad like this, and Brent and Bones, and to feel like this," Parker had said, his voice finally near the breaking point._

_ She enveloped him. "You've been so brave," she murmured. It was extraordinary; how the thing that he seemed to care about most was that all the adults in his life were upset and losing it. She'd raised a good son. "It'll be over soon. I promise."_

_ "But then you'll be gone," he'd said matter-of-factly. His voice was back to resigned; the emotions that she'd seen cracking behind the surface were gone. Her too-grown-up, too-realistic son, the man she could no longer comfort, was back. _

_ "Parker, come on," she said, pulling him up a little so his shoulder was against hers, trying to make him relax. "Yes, I won't be here, no, that's not fair. But I'll still be here, in here," she kissed his temple, "in here," she patted his heart. "As long as I'm there, you're never without me."_

_ "It's not the same," he explained heavily, with the emotional burdens of someone twice his age. "I can't talk to you."_

_ "You can always talk to me, Parks," she said firmly. "And hey — I won't have a job, I won't need to sleep, I won't need to eat — I'll be able to listen much better than I ever could here. Any time. Any place."_

_ He squeezed her hand. It was cold and thin, but it was still solid. "But I'll miss _you_," he insisted, poking her palm heart rent.  
_

_ "I will _never_ leave you," she replied, squeezing his hand tightly._

Her pen's scratching woke Brent, as she was finishing the last of her letters to Parker. One of the Hospice counselors — she went there every day now, for homeopathic and therapeutic medicines, to check in, to get things in order — had suggested writing Parker a letter for every birthday. She'd done that, every birthday up until his thirtieth, and now letters for big days like graduations and weddings and firstborns. "Hey," he said roughly, "you need sleep, babe."

"I slept all day," she said. It was true; she was sleeping at least 16 hours a day at this point, and she felt like she needed to take advantage of this flickering energy surge. "There's still so much to do," she said, distracted, as she figured out the three or so most important parts of parental advice she had, to include in a letter marked _When Parker Has His First Child_. She turned to him. "You'll get these to him, right?"

He paused, and looked away. She hadn't _finished_ everything she needed to, but she was ready to say good-bye; Brent wasn't ready at all. Part of her unfinished business was getting him ready. "Of course," he said, placing his hand on her forearm.

She put the letter aside; it could wait. Breathing heavily — it was tough to lie down — she sank to the pillow. Wordlessly, Brent went to the bathroom, got some water, and helped her drink. "Thank you," she whispered. She still had something to say, though, he could tell, so he waited. "You'll, you'll move on, right?" she finally blurted out. "You're going to be OK, right? I've spent so much time worrying about Parker, worrying about how tough his situation's going to be, but you're going to be OK, right?"

He looked away, pained. "Becca —" he started. "Please don't. Don't do this, OK?"

"I need to know," she said softly. "I want you to. I need you to, too."

His eyes cut her, just _knowing_ her, right to the bone. "Don't hang on for me, alright? This is painful, what's happening to your body; I know it is. Don't … don't just keep hanging on, putting yourself through hell. Let go, please, when your body needs to."

"I want to make sure you're OK, that you're —" she began.

"Ready?" he laughed hollowly. "I'm not going to be, Bex, I'm sorry, I can't. I can't be that selfless. I've tried and I just … I can't. But you suffering is worse than any of that. I won't be ready, until it happens, then I will be, OK? But don't … don't keep pushing yourself through all of this. I can't see you suffer like this, OK? I love you. I love you way too much for that."

She leaned up slightly, kissed him. Her lips felt dry, but she felt a little better. "OK," she said, pushing herself back up. "OK."

"You need to sleep," he stated.

"I will," she said. "I just need to finish this letter first, then I will. I promise."

"Okay," he said, turning his body over. He always slept on his side.

She picked up the paper again. She'd forgotten the date, and wrote it on the top, just because. _January 4__th_.

The next day, she went to the Hospice center, and didn't come home again.

* * *

So ... how did you like it? Let me know!


	17. Little Rest for Weary Bones

Slowly but surely, we're getting there! The beginning of the school year is crazy but this has been a nice mental break. I keep saying, "Next chapter the Big Thing will happen," and it never does, so be warned — we're not quite "There" yet. But I think this one is one of the loveliest that I've written I love the evolution Brennan is undergoing right now. I'm not 100% on the ending but it does what I wanted it to do, and I've promised myself to upload more quickly. Minor edits may follow.

I just wanted to take a quick minute and thank everyone who's read and reviewed, particularly those who have lost loved ones from cancer. It's a sensitive topic and I hope that I'm still creating an accurate portrayal of how someone dies from cancer. I'm reading "The Happy Marriage" now, which has affected my portrayal and understanding of the disease. It's a great book, for those in the market for tough, provocative reads.

Anyways, please let me know how this chapter is! Again — I REALLY appreciate all y'alls feedback and perseverance in this process.

_**Chapter Sixteen**_

_**The Darkness Holds Little Rest for Weary Bones **_

It was so very _primal_ of her, but one of the things that had first attracted her to Booth was his strength. His physical capacity was evident in everything he did: latent power rippling just below sinewy muscle. Even now, even though he was past 40 and a committed father to two and a desk rider (was that the term?) instead of a field agent, he still looked _strong_ and the jealousy in other women's eyes when they saw him kind of made her … possessive. Proud.

Of course, the second thing that had attracted her to him was his admirable emotional strength. Booth comforted people, took care of them, intuitively knew what they needed. Sometimes, she was jealous, especially when they were working together, when he could instinctively figure out what someone needed. Now it came in use most frequently with Sophia, when she was feeling somewhat cranky (not that that happened much, really, she was a happy and often docile child), and her. It was a skill she still lacked.

But that ability of his had eroded lately, in tandem with Rebecca's deteriorating condition. Most wouldn't notice, of course. Booth had immense capabilities, and one of his many talents was convincing everyone that he was fine, that he was able to bear any burden and help any victim, with just a single crooked smile. But even though he wasn't broody or particularly angry or clearly hiding something out of a misguided sense of protection, he wasn't fine, hadn't been fine. He'd been shorter with subordinates at work, though his associate directors still maintained the same combination of fear and respect for him; he was distant with the other hockey dads; he barely interacted with any of their friends; it took him a split-second longer to smile when she made a squinty joke. She noticed things; she noticed all these things. She just wasn't sure how exactly to optimally approach this situation, as a wife.

Initially, she'd been cautious, slightly timid to step forward. She wasn't sure if she would do it correctly; not only did she give herself little room for error, but Booth could be thoughtlessly mercurial in his criticism. Earlier in her life she could have gone to Guatemala or Indonesia and given herself six weeks and a casual sexual relationship to straighten out her thoughts and work herself into a nice uncomplicated state, but she was in a family now. Societies survived due to the family unit; the family unit dictated that you put the needs of others in your social contract ahead of your own wants. Most importantly, Booth and Parker and Sophia needed her.

So she'd helped, and tried to do so quietly, so as to not debase Booth further. She took care of the children, and purchased all the Christmas gifts for all their friends and socially-mandated acquaintances, such as the Attorney General and several Senators, and driven Parker places and stayed home with Sophia, when Sophia was sick for two days in mid-December. Every night she called both his air-brained but gossipy assistant, Danielle and Sweets, who was back at the Bureau, to see how his day had been. She'd turned down social invitations that she knew would just stress Booth, like Christmas parties at the National Endowment for the Arts' director's townhome and Hanukkah receptions at the Georgetown president's residence. She stopped working on the ninth book, though she had deadlines and would really rather get the books done as quickly as possible, cancelled several speaking appearances, and all but stopped conducting actual research, since that curtailed time at home and prevented her from handling any potential crisis at home.

She was fine with these things; they didn't feel like burdens or obligations or coercions. Brennan knew, unequivocally, that Booth loved her, would always love her: He demonstrated that, showed her that, daily. Over the years, that assertion had become fact, as irrefutable as the color of the sky or the molecular composition of calcium phosphate (_Ca__3__(PO__4__)__2_). If she did not know Booth so well, she would never have suspected just how upset he was feeling. Based on deduction, she had determined that he was feeling overwhelming guilt and sadness about Rebecca, and that was driving his actions.

What stymied her, though, was _why_ Booth felt _so _guilty, why the thought of Rebecca dying was being taken so unnaturally hard. Booth had known people to die before, had had them literally die while he was holding them, had caused them to die before. Perhaps it was this waiting? But even that didn't explain the anger. She knew that Booth _felt_ things, felt them deeply, took on too much personal responsibility, had promised himself that Sophia and Parker would have magical childhoods, and that, irrationally, this somehow felt like he was letting Parker down. But his continued level of guilt over Rebecca's condition still surprised her. He was cocky but not this blindingly arrogant, especially in personal matters. Then she decided the _why_ didn't matter — only what she could do for him.

She did her best. When Booth suggested that she adopt Parker, she balked automatically, but only a little, and told him she just needed to think about it. Which was true. When a terrorist attack in Miami only made his stress levels rise exponentially, she stood by attentively, made sure that everything at home was absolutely taken care of, asked him to take on none of the myriad tasks related to hosting Christmas. She successfully defused his mood several times that week, which made her proud. Her tactics ranged from the sexual to washing his favorite pair of socks every night so he could go to work confident. When Parker gave him an enormous amount of attitude — again, not something over which she could necessarily ascribe blame to Parker, but something that Booth was formerly more than capable of handling — she took control of the situation, so he didn't have to. She sent him off to church and then set about dealing with Parker, calmly.

"Parker," she'd said, rationally, "Why don't you want to go to church?" She had been nervous; Booth's mood and mindset depended upon this. She was frustrated; Booth would have been able to handle this situation much better, could deftly navigate the nuances of spirituality and loss better, but he couldn't right now, so it was her responsibility.

"You don't go," he'd retorted.

"I know, but I didn't realize that bothered you."

"It doesn't _bother_ me. But you don't go because you don't believe in God. And if all of this happens and God just stands by …"

"So if I went to church you would go to church?" she asked. "That's what would follow. Logically."

"Bones, you can't just go to church if you don't believe," Parker said, warily. "That's, like, dishonest."

She sat down on the bed. "Parker," she said, "I know that right now you don't want to go to church because you're angry about your mom, and I'm not going to sit here and pretend that maybe participating in a religious ritual is going to help, and I'm certainly not going to sit here and say that you going to church is going to make any difference in a so-called deity's decision regarding your mother's life, or give you answers to why this is happening. But, do you know what altruism means?"

"No."

"It means helping others around us. And being altruistic — taking time, and thinking about how we can help other people out in a given situation, and why helping them is good for us — has proven benefits to one's own mood, outlook, and well-being."

"Huh?"

"What I'm saying is," she tried again. "What I'm saying is, right now, your dad is upset. You don't like to see him upset. So, knowing your father as I do, logically, one thing that would elevate his emotional state is seeing you show up at church. And even though you're feeling badly — I think that seeing your dad happy and … grateful that you come to church, will make you feel better."

"You know this?"

"It's a … hunch." She tested out the word. She didn't like it much.

"Really, Bones?" Of course it was that, more than anything else, caused Parker to smirk.

"I would call it more of an inferred conclusion, actually," she backpedaled.

"I just …"

"What?"

"I don't know. It's like, I'm just not even sure I can."

She'd sat down next to him. "People … need other people. Biology and anthropology both stress this fact, the connectivity between people and their environment and other people. The way you interact with the world, Parker, the way it interacts with _you_, becomes indelibly mark your body. You carry people, your environment, on you and in you for your entire life. Despite the fact that it can be … scary, you are affecting your father just as much as he and your mother are affecting you right now," she paused to take in her stepson's pouting visage, and tried another tack. _You have to offer up something of yourself first. _"When my parents left, my brother left, too. He left me, all alone. And that made … that made getting over the loss of my own parents infinitely harder, because I didn't have anyone to help me. But Parker, you and your dad each have someone to help him. You have each other. And you're not going to abandon each other. You're both _incredibly_ loyal. That's one of the things I admire most about both of you. Now, we know that you going to church will help him. You have so many people that are here for you and love you, like me, like your dad, so let's just trust _us_ — not this church — and see what happens."

She'd been surprised, but he accepted it, and they went to church.

Christmas Day had gone well enough — she suspected that she and Rebecca had settled everything over Thanksgiving. They had both accepted what was to happen — unlike Booth, Brent, and Parker —and acted accordingly. Rebecca's body was warped, loose, distended; her cheeks sagged out and she rather resembled survivors of genocide. However, her eyes were bright, and she she smiled widely all day, indicating that she was happy. Before dinner, Rebecca teased Brent, joked with Parker, and needled Booth into a feigned outrage that he exaggerated to make Parker laugh, which admittedly took Brennan a bit too long to catch on to. She and Rebecca delicately, precariously coexisted, much the same as normal: Mutual admiration, appreciation, and respect, and absolutely nothing in common. They put the finishing touches on the meal together and alternately rolled their eyes and scolded the three men's antics over the meal. Rebecca directed her as she put away the dishes after dinner. Really, it was a fairly pleasant holiday, all things considered. Parker certainly seemed happy — everyone, in their sorrow and guilt and sympathy, had given him many more presents than strictly necessary.

The following week was packed with family — his and hers — and work, and they moved through the motions accordingly. Rebecca's condition seemed to linger over everything, just a little, but they managed to have a good time nevertheless. Booth looked less tired, which was what counted. She and Booth originally plotted to simply skip all seven of the New Year's parties they'd been invited to, and later inform everyone that they were at another party (she did love mild deception and chicanery). She was looking forward to this nefarious plot. By six p.m., however, Angela had called, demanding to know where they were.

"Ang, really, we're going to stay at home," she confessed. "Thank you for the invite, and I know it's rude not to come, but we're very tired. I'm sorry if this is offensive." She twisted the Claddagh ring around her finger.

"No, no, no," Angela hummed. "OK, Bren, I know you're not going to love this, and just to let you know, I _promised_ that I wouldn't tell, but it's really important that you two come tonight. It's one of those things, you know, those things that sometimes you do for friends."

"It's a New Year's party," she protested.

"It's a little more than that."

"What's going on, Ang?" she sighed.

"Cam and Malcolm are getting married, at eight. They decided last week, we've been planning nonstop since. It's only a small thing, they really don't want to make a big deal out of it, but …"

"They would be very upset if we didn't attend," Brennan finished.

"Exactly," Angela said, and Brennan could tell by her tone that she was biting her lip. "So, could you just … get Booth here, please? Cam will _kill him_ if he's not there."

"We don't have a gift, Angela." Her mind started clicking, with everything that she could do _wrong_ at a wedding, and the first thing that came was _not bringing a gift._

"They don't want gifts, it's a surprise wedding," Angela said hurriedly. "Just come. And when you get here, don't tell anyone what's going on. It's a surprise, ok, Bren? No lectures on social customs, OK?"

She sighed, and braced herself for the long, slow descent into Booth's basement cavern, where he had already started going through his DVD collection.

"I'm thinking we start with _The Thin Man_ for old times' sakes, whaddaya say?" Booth said.

She shook her head. "We need to go to Angela's party," she said. "And you need to have a suit on."

He shook his head. "Oh, no, no, no. We have had a terrorist attack, and cancer, and private-school interviews, and _our families_, and no, we are going to have a night, to ourselves, with old movies and popcorn and that's _it_. You and me, Bones. Just like old times." He gave her the charm smile.

She smiled; it was nice to see his enthusiasm and zest returned. "Yes, well, not tonight," she said.

"No."

"I just talked to Angela —"

"No, Bones, I know she can be, like, relentless —"

"Booth — " she interrupted him, "The party is an elaborate ruse; really, Cam is getting married." His eyes widened. "Surprise," she added weakly.

"What?"

"Apparently, Cam and Malcolm have decided to kick the broom and get married tonight," she shrugged. "Angela said Cam would kill you if you're not there, and I'm tempted to think she means literally."

"How — what — how are they pulling this off?" Booth demanded.

"I'm guessing with Hodgins' money. You need to, you know," she made a gesture to fill in for _clean up and get ready. _"Also, it's a surprise, so don't tell anyone," she looked at him as he rolled his eyes. "_Promise_."

He rolled his eyes again, but got up and said, "Alright, surprise wedding, let's go."

An hour later, they, Sophia, and Parker (who had been staying at a friend's house, but Booth called him to see if he wanted to go, and he said yes because "it'll be just like _Parks & Rec_" which was confusing to Brennan since there were no parks or car crashes involved) arrived at Angela's. She'd debated what to wear before finally settling on an emerald knee-length dress with cap sleeves and an off-the-shoulder neckline. Sophia looked adorable in a navy puff-sleeved dress with a black ribbon and both boys looked dapper in their suits.

"Thank god," Angela said as she hugged them.

"What — Ang — we said we'd come," she said, struggling to breathe and hug Angela at the same time.

"Yes, but now you're _here_ and you can be helpful," Angela smiled in reply.

"Can you explain this, a little more?" Brennan asked, as she was pulled down the hallway.

"Well, they're moving back to D.C. in two months —"

"They are?"

"— And they decided that they'd been engaged for two years, and that was long enough, and that they _wanted_ to get married but the last thing either of them wanted to do was actually, you know, plan a wedding, so they decided to … elope, but with people here." They arrived at the kitchen. "So they decided to do it here, because, you know, big house, and so yeah, here we are."

"Dr. Brennan!" Gordon-Gordon Wyatt said cheerfully, "So delighted to see you again."

"Dr. Wyatt," she said, kissing his cheek as was customary. "You're catering this?"

"Absolutely," he said, "I was simply thrilled when Dr. Hodgins called me up with this proposition a few days ago."

"Bren, can you help in here?" Angela asked, "I've got flowers to do … We only have about 45 minutes, and then the guests will start arriving."

"Who are these guests?" Brennan inquired.

"Oh, you know, just us, Daisy and Sweets, Wendall and Vincent and the whole squintern gang, since we had to invite them, Cam's sister and dad, Malcolm's kids and his college roommate's family and his parents and his siblings and nieces. They all live out near Mitchellville."

"There are 28 guests, Dr. Brennan," Dr. Wyatt said joyfully. "I must say, this group of friends does like its last-minute weddings."

"Booth and I planned ours —" she started.

"For like a whole, what, _three_ weeks?" Angela smiled. "No, you're right, Gordon-Gordon. The heart wants what the heart wants." She stood up. "Anyways, I need to go get the flowers set. Bren, Gordon-Gordon, can you handle the appetizers?"

"What am I supposed to do?" Booth said, suddenly materializing at the doorway.

"Seeley Booth, my hero," Angela said. "Come on, you're going to make a playlist."

"Booth has _terrible_ taste in music," Brennan protested, as she started chopping the spinach that Gordon-Gordon has set in front of her.

"So says the girl who likes aboriginal mating calls, Bones, I got this," Booth smirked.

Angela shrugged. "He's got a point, Bren," Angela said. "Now I gotta get on these flowers."

Watching Angela's retreating back, Gordon-Gordon remarked, "Booth seems, on the whole, to be doing slightly better at hiding his true feelings, doesn't he?"

She set the potato down. "He's still very … upset," she said. "And I can't figure out why."

"You can't?" His voice was nonjudgmental, almost surprised; mostly he sounded concerned.

"No!" she insisted. "It's not logical, even when counting for emotional attachments and Booth's overdeveloped sense of guilt." She grabbed the phyllo dough and began rolling it. "I don't — I don't understand."

"Have you tried asking him about it?"

"Yes!" she said, "I did. He said he was just upset on behalf of Parker, but it still seems to be in excess."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"He's … constantly tense. He's snapping at Parker. His judgment is clouded and little things set him off. Parker gets under his skin _all_ the time; all they do is fight. He's usually so good with people but his skills have decreased recently, and he's less effective in relationships, particularly Parker. He's short tempered and less able to deduce a person's motivations and emotions. He pretends to be OK but things just get … _buried_, and all he does is smile and set his jaw a little more. When he's upset we talk and I try to help but … I don't know. I can't quite articulate it, but his actions are very different from the way he insists he is feeling, and the way he is acting is out of proportion with the ways and manners in which I would anticipate him reacting. Something seems off."

Gordon-Gordon nodded. "I'll keep an eye out tonight."

She inhaled. "Thank you." She began slicing the dough into triangles, "I … appreciate it."

"You know, beyond all this Rebecca flotsam and jetsam, things seem to be going exceptionally well for our man Seeley Booth," Gordon-Gordon said.

"What do you mean?" she wrinkled her brow.

"Well — you two have worked out your problems, and settled down into quite a fulfilling marriage, which he has longed for for years. He received a fantastic promotion, and even he has noticed that he's quite well-suited to the position, and earning immense respect. His brother has straightened out; his grandfather is doing relatively well. The one other thing that he has wanted for years — more time with his son — is likely about to happen, as well."

"But, Rebecca's going to die, for that to happen," Brennan countered. "And Booth never wanted that. He likes Rebecca, as a person. He thinks she's a good mother to Parker."

"Precisely."

"You're not saying — no," she said, as realization dawned on her. "No." Dr. Wyatt was insinuating that Booth thought Rebecca's illness could be some sort of … cosmic retribution, or punishment, for him wanting more time with Parker. "Booth is cocky, yes, and superstitious, but no, he's not insane. And for him to think of that would be … extremely egotistical."

"It would be extreme, yes, but not _irrational_," Dr. Wyatt said. "In fact, it would be quite rational, given Deputy Director Booth's chronic inability to find himself worthy of good things."

"Booth is worthy of _great_ things," she insisted.

"Yes, he is, but he rarely thinks that," Dr. Wyatt pointed out, lifting a tray of canapés. "Just something to think about. As I said — I'll keep an eye on our boy today. You should also ask Dr. Sweets for input, as well."

She nodded. "We talk frequently."

"Bren, come on, Cam needs you for a moment," Angela beckoned, her silver dress flickering in the doorway as she sped past.

"Excuse me," she said, stepping away from the spanakopita.

"What does she need assistance with?" Brennan asked, trailing up the stairs.

"Drinking champagne," Angela answered, pushing open one of the many doors leading to a guest-bedroom.

"Brennan!" Cam said from a seat in front of a mirror, where Michelle was twirling her hair up. "Come on in! Were you surprised?" Cam was dressed in a gorgeous, short-sleeved white-lace dress with a mock turtleneck and an entirely cut-out back. The dress hit just above her knees, and a pair of white heels loitered by her seat. Michelle wore a smoky gray dress with a tucked bodice and a draped skirt. She looked quite stylish and grown-up, Brennan thought.

"I was. Very," Brennan said. "Congratulations, Cam. I'm extremely happy for you."

Angela popped two bottles, one of champagne, one of sparking grape juice. "Oh, Michelle can have _one of_ champagne; it's a special occasion, after all," Cam decreed, so Angela poured three champagnes and reserved a glass of sparking grape juice for herself.

"To Cam and Malcolm — may you continue in the tradition of wonderful marriages following weddings planned in a matter of hours," Angela said, before swallowing her entire glass at once.

"Hear, hear," Cam said, taking a sip. "How was your Christmas, Brennan?"

She smiled. "It was … quite busy. My family was in town, Booth's family came down, we needed to do something with Rebecca for Parker, then Booth's still dealing with the Miami bombing mess for work. It went quickly." She couldn't quite articulate it, but Christmas, the holiday, had just felt like doing a lot of what she was supposed to be doing, seeing the people she was _supposed_ to see, instead of doing what she wanted. Having Christmas with Angela and her family, with Cam, with some of their friends from the lab days, would have been much more enjoyable, but even she could see the multiple social barriers to that. It was strange to consider, though, since five years ago — when spending Christmases with them was an option, and what usually happened — she had always tried to escape to Peru or El Salvador. She was certain there was a literary trope for that.

"Ugh, tell me about it," Angela said. "Both my dad and Jack's parents decided to come to see the grandkids — not _us_, mind you, just the kids — but of course Joe and Talia barely know my dad, and _none_ of them know Jack's parents, of course so we spent the entire week being inter-generational, inter-familial volleyball referees. You know what's fun? Watching my dad and Hodgins' dad talk, except for when it's _horrible_," Angela sighed. "Jack's dad asked my dad his golf handicap. I mean, honestly, just _look_ at the man, you know? Which is what makes having this even better, Cam. Good call on coming up with something to get the band back together. There's hardly anything that does that these days."

"Well, hey, when we're back in D.C. it'll be much easier," Cam said.

"About that …" Brennan started.

"It was extremely sudden, Brennan, but I was asked to lead up the creation of a forensic pathology program out of GW's med school, and Malcolm just received a two-year grant at NIH and Georgetown, so it looks like we're back. It all went down in the last three weeks …"

"And we've been overly preoccupied with Rebecca's illness, yes, I understand," Brennan said, and she did. Cam still looked relieved, though.

"How's Booth doing?" Cam asked.

She paused. "I think it's difficult for him," was the best way she could articulate it.

Cam nodded. "Booth doesn't like change. He's not flexible. He doesn't like things happening to people he loves that he's not in control of. He's lucky you're the one person he can't intimidate into letting him hide that from you."

She felt flummoxed. Booth was still not dealing with this well at all, and she wasn't having much success, which logically nullified Cam's conclusion.

"You know what I miss? Crazy crime-solving," Angela said suddenly. "Remember that Christmas we got locked in the lab? That was fun. I miss stuff like that."

"What?" Cam asked.

"Cam wasn't at the lab until later that year," Brennan remembered. "We were possibly exposed to Valley Fever, thanks to Zack and Hodgins. Until they determined whether or not we were contagious we were locked in the lab. We weren't allowed to leave for three days, on Christmas."

"We had to camp out in sleeping bags, Booth got high from the antifungal medication, and we had to make Christmas presents for each other. Hodgins blew up a mold spore as a picture for me. It's still in my studio," Angela laughed. "It was the first thing he ever gave me."

"Zack made a mechanical robot for Booth to give to Parker," Brennan remembered. "The toy broke before Booth and I even moved in with each other, but Parker still won't throw it out. Booth … told him Zack's out on a dig, and he kept it in his closet for when Zach comes back," she shook her head. "I think he's forgotten about it entirely by this point."

"Hodgins and I visit every other week; give it to me at some point and I'll take it to him to repair," Angela suggested. "If he's over the robot, Joe's almost old enough to play with it."

Their thoughts quieted for a minute as they all thought about Zack.

"Uh, Mom?" Michelle cut in awkwardly. "It's 8. We really need to get going."

"Oh, crap, I need to make my speech about what's _really _going on," Angela said, downing the rest of her sparkling cider. "Come on Brennan, let's go."

"Brennan — one sec!" Cam called. "Would you — sorry this is last minute — but would you mind doing a reading?"

"Of course, Cam," Brennan said, hugging her. She felt honored, truly.

Angela spirited her downstairs, where they, joined with Booth and Hodgins, went through a dizzying number of introductions and explanations to Cam and Malcolm's assorted friends and relatives. The judge, a beau of Caroline's, arrived shortly before nine, and at nine, Angela's father, on an acoustic guitar, began playing a slow-tempo version of "God Only Knows," a song that Brennan recognized but couldn't quite place without Booth's assistance.

The wedding was tinged with a grace that was appropriate for the venue and the participants. There was something about the simplicity and the joy on Cam's face that made Brennan's throat constrict and chest tighten. After a few words from the judge, Angela read a poem that Brennan had never heard but actually quite liked, titled "Love is a Great Thing" (_Love carries a burden which is no burden_), then it was Brennan's turn.

When she'd looked over the reading, she'd been somewhat surprised. Personally, she'd been expecting Rilke (Letters Twenty-Four or Seven), which Cam had read at their wedding and which she found would fit quite well at this ceremony as well. Instead she was given another excerpt she had heard once or twice but was essentially unfamiliar with, from something called_ Gift from the Sea_, by Anne Morrow Lindbergh, the wife of Charles Lindbergh.

Clearing her throat, she read, "When you love someone, you do not love them all the time, in exactly the same way, from moment to moment. It is an impossibility. It is even a lie to pretend to. And yet this is exactly what most of us demand. We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships. We leap at the flow of the tide and resist in terror its ebb. We are afraid it will never return. We insist on permanency, on duration, on continuity; when the only continuity possible, in life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity — in freedom, in the sense that the dancers are free, barely touching as they pass, but partners in the same pattern," she looked at Booth, who was staring at her inscrutably. "The only real security is not in owning or possessing, not in demanding or expecting, not in hoping, even. Security in a relationship lies neither in looking back to what was in nostalgia, nor forward to what it might be in dread or anticipation, but living in the present relationship and accepting it as it is now," she swallowed and wet her lips before continuing. "Relationships must be like islands, one must accept them for what they are here and now, within their limits — islands, surrounded and interrupted by the sea, and continually visited and abandoned by the tides. The end," she added quickly before stepping back down.

She rejoined Booth as Cam and Malcolm started to read their vows. Next to her, Daisy dabbed her eyes and sighed, leaning into Sweets and causing Brennan to roll her eyes. Without looking down, Booth interlaced his fingers with hers and squeezed, hard. For some reason, it felt like forgiveness, or maybe an apology, though she wasn't sure what for.

After the ceremony, there was more food, and lots of dancing. Angela and Hodgins offered them the use of their usual guest bedroom, and they put Sophia to sleep in Talia's room, so they were able to drink and laugh and dance with impunity. Parker dropped off around 1, heading down to the rec room to sleep on the couch (and probably play some Xbox); Cam and Malcolm headed up to the "honeymoon suite" (really the in-laws suite) not long after that. Soon, it was just them, Angela, and Hodgins; then even the two of them headed upstairs as well, with a reminder to turn out the lights and a, "Don't stay up too late, lovebirds."

They sat quietly on the couch, content not to sleep yet. "That was nice," she murmured.

"Best New Year's ever," he agreed.

"You're not upset that we didn't get to watch movies on the couch?" she checked.

"What? No, Bones. Not when we got to see this. This — this was amazing."

"I'm glad Cam allowed me to read a passage. That was very benevolent of her."

"You guys are good friends, Bones," he said, stretching out and standing. "Come on, Temperance, let's dance." He held out a hand to her.

She smiled. "Seeley — there's no music," she protested.

"Never stopped us before," he said, wiggling his finger invitingly. After a long look, she placed her hand firmly in his, and he pulled her up.

Goofily, he hummed the first few bars of _As Time Goes By_, just to get them dancing. After a while, though, he quieted, and they simply swayed there, to their own tempo, for the next several minutes. It was … idyllic.

The next morning Gordon-Gordon made breakfast for all of them — egg-white omelets with asparagus, salmon (not in hers, of course), goat cheese and beefsteak tomatoes. Afterwards they finally headed back home, with many "Happy New Years," and hugs, and Gordon-Gordon pulling her aside and saying, "All reasoning is also intuition," which, irrationally, made her feel much better, though it was a meaningless saying predicated on something that she did not believe truly existed.

The alleviated mood brought on by endorphins released at such an occasion lasted for a few days. On the 2nd, since nobody else was back to work, she was able to spend a solid six hours in the lab working on verifying an Iranian anthropologist's research findings; on the 3rd, it was back to work like normal, early into the lab, nine hours at her desk and home for dinner at six. Then, on the 4th — a phone call.

"It's Rebecca," Booth said, without preamble. "Brent just called me. Rebecca — they've decided to keep her on the Hospice floor."

"I don't know what that means," she said, flicking through financial reports on her laptop.

"It means —" he sighed, "It means she's not coming home again. They're keeping her in the hospital."

"Permanently?" she sat back.

"Yeah," he said.

"Are they sure?"

"It was her choice. She … doesn't want to go at home, I'm pretty sure. Brent says she doesn't want the house … tainted."

"So this is the end."

He groaned. "God, Bones, d'ya have to, you know … say it that way?"

"Say it what way? This is my voice, Booth."

"I know. I'm sorry," he said, then sighed. "They're … giving her morphine."

"Why now?" she asked. "She … didn't seem to be any worse over Christmas."

"She took a turn today, she said — the pain spiked, and then she didn't have the strength to get up again. She said she felt _ready. _I don't know. I just talked to her on the phone. I'm taking Parker over tonight after school."

"Do you think he should be there?"

"I talked to Sweets today — he said to let him make the choice. I don't know, Bones. Do you think he's ready?"

"No. I don't. But I think if you make the choice for him he's going to resent it for a very long time," she answered honestly.

"You're right," he said. "She also asked for you — said she needed to talk to you, so get on over there when you get a chance."

"Alright. I'll try and stop by today or tomorrow."

"Well, it needs to be soon. Eighth floor, GW, room 27."

"I know," she said. "And Booth — I'm sorry."

There was a pause. "Thanks Bones."

She tried to stop by that evening, but Rebecca was asleep. Sarah informed her that she was usually up in the morning, if she wanted to stop by then.

She promised she would, then went home. She cooked meatloaf, macaroni and cheese, two pies. Food had a crucial and undeniable role around death, as many cultures found that simple nourishment often filled a void left behind by the dying or dead. It was also accepted custom in many societies to bring food as a gift during times of intense grief. Booth had picked up Parker but they hadn't come straight home, and so she just put everything in the oven, fed Sophia, and worked on her vocabulary and spatial sense. She put Sophia to bed. Finally, finally, they came home: Booth, white-faced; Parker, red-faced. Booth mouthed _out talking_ as he shuffled Parks in.

"Hey," she jumped up, clumsily, almost knocking the chair over in the process. Booth came over to her, pressed his lips to her temple. Parker just nodded and set his bag down. "Sophia's asleep already; Shawna said she didn't nap today. There's some macaroni and cheese and meat loaf and pie in the oven, would you like any?"

Parker's eyes flickered. "What type of pie?" he asked. Brennan smiled, relieved.

The next morning she went to the hospital on the way to the lab, after dropping Parker off at school. Booth wanted Parker to stay in school so he would have some normality. Rebecca was up, thankfully; Brent and Lisa lingered in the periphery. She'd been looking sick for weeks, really, but now she _really_ looked ill: IVs (Brennan had seen her hooked up to them before) slithered loosely up and down her arms and under her bed linens; she wore a huge hunter-green robe and a light blue scarf on her head.

"Temperance," she crocked. "Come in." She cleared her throat.

"Good morning," she said, debating internally just how far in to walk.

"Can you two give us a minute?" Rebecca motioned to her sister and husband, who quickly left.

Temperance hesitated a moment, unsure of what to say. Rebecca just nodded, finally saying, "It's alright, sit down. Doing just fine, by the way." Her voice had a bit of an edge to it.

Embarrassed, Brennan said, "I'm sorry, I just was unsure of what to say. Booth is typically the person I turn to in these situations, but …"

"It's fine, Temperance," Rebecca said. "Please, take a seat."

She sat down and nodded toward the IVs. "Steroids, I assume?" She knew patients were often given steroids at the end of cancer battles to give them some extra time to say goodbye.

Rebecca shook her head. "No. They offered me steroids, which would give me some extra time, and would fight an infection if I got one, but they would prolong … this. I've come to terms with … with dying," she struggled over the words, "but I'm not looking forward to it, obviously. I don't want it to take longer than it has to. So it's low-dose painkillers."

"That's logical," Temperance said, back straight, on the edge of her chair.

"Yeah," Rebecca said. "I've accepted this, but I want it … I want it to be quick. And I don't want to go at home, where Brent and Parker live. This is comfortable, here."

She nodded. "Also logical."

They made eye contact for a minute before Rebecca broke it and reached underneath her. "I wanted to give you these," she pulled out a journal, and two rubber-band-bound packs of envelopes. "These are letters to Parker. I have one for every birthday until he's 30, middle-school graduation, high-school graduation, college graduation, when he gets engaged, when he gets married, when he has his first kid. Some others. I was hoping you would give them to him."

"Not … Brent? Or Booth?"

She hesitated. "They're … Mom things," she said. "Brent's going to stay in contact, he's in D.C., Seeley said last night he was going to let him do every other weekend, but this … this is Mom stuff."

"Of course," Temperance said. She understood Mom Stuff now.

"These are for you and Seeley," she handed over another pack. "They're also dated." She passed them over. Temperance flipped through, seeing _Parker's Prom_ and _First Anniversary of My Death_ on some of them. Some were addressed solely to her. "And this is for Parker. Whenever you think he's ready," she handed over the last item, a thick, well-used journal. "It's just … It's things he shouldn't forget."

"Rebecca, are you sure that you want me to give him all these things?" she wondered, worried about the psychological implications.

Rebecca stared at her. "Yes. You said you would. Over Thanksgiving."

She deflated. "Right."

Rebecca shifted awkwardly. "I have another … request."

Temperance nodded. "Of course."

"Could you … is Parker at school right now?"

"Yes, I dropped him off myself."

"Could you go … get him? And bring him here? I just … I haven't really said goodbye to him, just him, he hasn't been ready. But last night … last night he was. And I don't know how many days I have left. I know Seeley wants him in school as long as possible, and I agree, but … I just want a day." She looked tremulous, and Brennan could tell that this was a rather sudden, ill-thought-out request.

She automatically opened her mouth to protest, to hedge and say she would have to run it by Booth first, that she needed to defer to him. Instead, though, she just shut her mouth. "Of course," she said. "I'll go pick him up now. Janney's only a 10-minute drive. I'll be back in a half hour." She rose to leave.

"Thank you, Temperance," Rebecca said. Brennan realized that this was probably her last lone audience with this woman, who had led a life that at some points was so remarkably parallel, so twinned and mirrored but also divergent, to her own. They were doing some sort of almost ritualistic switch between being Parker's Mother and Parker's Other Mother, and she wasn't sure how to respond.

"Thank _you_, Rebecca," she finally said, hesitating before finally choosing to share a story. "You know, when Booth and I first started dating, I didn't want to tell Parker. I didn't know how he would react, especially since …"

"Especially since you both knew it was serious?" Rebecca filled in.

"Yes. Precisely. But he was fine with it when we first told him. But then I had to take care of him for an evening all by myself. And I was … nervous. And he just … he made me not nervous. He has this skill he acquired from his father, to make anyone comfortable. I thought it was that. But then I realized there was something more. He was just so unusually trusting and _… loving_ and perceptive. I remember I said something dumb — I misinterpreted something he said. And he just responded with an unusual degree of empathy and kindness for an eight-year-old. It was … astonishing."

Rebecca smiled. "I think that's all him, but thank you. And, you know, you've taught him things. You make him see the world in a bigger way, a different way, than Seeley or I do. So … thank you."

Inexplicably, she felt the urge to hug Rebecca; even more inexplicably, she followed through on it. Rebecca reciprocated. After a few minutes, Rebecca pulled back, and said, "Thank you. I needed that."

She nodded. "I'll go pick him up now."

Rebecca smiled. "Thank you," she said, and Brennan, startled a little, realized she also meant _I trust you._

* * *

What do you think? Please let me know! _  
_


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